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LAUREL-CROWNED  TALES. 


UNIFORM  IN  STYLE  AND  PRICE. 
1 


I. 

Abdallah:  or,  The  Four-Leaved  Shamrock.  Translated 
from  the  French  of  Edouard  Ren6  Lefebvre-Laboulaye, 
by  Mary  L.  Booth.  i6mo,  232  pages,  gilt  top. 


II. 

Rasselas : Prince  of  Abyssinia.  By  Samuel  Johnson. 
i6mo,  201  pages,  gilt  top. 

III. 

Eaphael:  or,  Pages  of  the  Book  of  Life  at  Twenty. 

From  the  French  of  Alphonse  de  Lamartine.  i6mo, 
248  pages,  gilt  top. 

IV. 

The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  By  Oliver  Goldsmith.  i6mo, 
279  pages,  gilt  top. 

V. 

The  Epicurean:  A Tale.  By  Thomas  Moore,  i6mo,  238 
pages,  gilt  top. 

VI. 

PiCCiola.  From  the  French  of  X.  B.  Saintinh,  i6mo,  278 
pages,  gilt  top. 

VII. 

An  Iceland  Fisherman.  Translated  from  the  French  of- 
Pierre  Loti,  by  Anna  Farwkll  de  Koven.  i6mo,  252 
pages,  gilt  top. 

VITI. 

Paul  and  Virginia.  Translated  from  the  French  of  Bernar- 
din  de  Saint-Piekre,  by  Melville  B.  Anderson. 
i6mo,  218  pages,  gilt  top. 


1 


u.  . . . ' ' 

AN 

' i ' ' 

Iceland  Fisherman 

BY 

PIERRE  LOTI 


^Translatcti  from  tjjc  jirrnrij 
By  anna  FARWELL  de  KOVEN 


SIXTH  THOUSAND 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  & CO. 
1908 


By  a. 


/ X. 


Copyright 

C.  McClurg  and  Co» 
A.D.  1889 


Op . E K 


TRANSLATOR’S  PREFACE. 


HE  difficulties  of  translation  are  always  great, 


but  never  greater  than  when  the  task  is  the 
reproducing  of  an  emotion  which  arises  from  the 

- melody  of  language  rather  than  from  originality  of 
^ plot  or  rapid  development  of  incident.  But  to 
C)  translate  Pierre  Loti  is  no  more  difficult  than  to 

analyze  him.  He  is  as  yet  an  unclassified  ele- 
ment in  literature.  The  intelligence  which  admits 
^ his  limitations  in  invention  and  in  regularity  of 
' expression  cannot  define  or  explain  away  the  in- 
vincible sorcery  which  enthralls  the  emotions.  His 
nature  is  a rendezvous  of  contradictions.  He  is 
very  old  and  he  is  very  young ; he  is  as  sensitive  as 
a child  and  as  unbelieving  as  an  atheist ; he  adores 
alike  the  lily  of  the  tropics  and  the  garden-flower 

- of  his  own  home.  He  has  the  strength  of  the  de- 
veloped artist  and  the  irregularity  of  the  amateur. 
He  has  experienced  and  described  the  extremes 

I of  human  emotion.  But  he  has  two  qualities 


VI 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


which  remain  invariable,  — a yearning  passion  for 
beauty,  and  a limpid  purity  of  style.  He  is  as 
brilliant  and  realistic  an“nnpressionist  as  any  of 
his  countrymen ; but  he  is  more  than  all  a senti- 
mentalist, and  never  describes  a scene  without 
the  accompanying  emotion  which  uhites  it  to 
his  soul  and  ours.  The  poet’s  passion  for  beauty 
is  his  own ; but  his  expression  of  it  is  essentially 
Gallic,  as  it  is  never  divested  of  the  personal  rela- 
tion to  himself.  An  abstract  rapture  over  the 
frozen  beauties  of  a Greek  vase  could  never  have 
arisen  from  the  heart  of  this  fascinating  egotist. 
Like  all  poets,  his  nature  is  as  deep  as  a well  and 
as  reflective  as  the  mirror  of  its  surface. 

The  principle  of  moral  choice  does  not  limit 
the  number  of  images  which  he  reflects,  and  we 
are  to  be  congratulated  that  the  roving,  seafaring 
life  he  leads  gives  him  manifold  opportunities  to 
gratify  his  curiosity  and  ours.  In  Le  Mariage 
de  Loti,”  the  first  of  his  books,  and  in  Pecheur 
d’Islande,”  his  masterpiece,  he  strikes  the  ex- 
treme notes  of  his  emotional  experience  and  artis- 
tic sympathy.  In  the  former  — a description  of 
a summer’s  sojourn  in  the  Islands  of  Polynesia  — 
his  love  for  the  strange  and  exotic  finds  its  most 
remarkable  utterance.  To  be  told  that  there  are 
people  who  under  happy  conditions  of  climate 
can  live  in  the  mere  luxurious  abandonment  to 
the  beauty  of  Nature  in  her  most  magnificent 
moods,  is  something ; but  to  be  made  to  see  and 
live  with  them  as  this  young  Alfred  de  Musset 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE.  vii 

did,  gives  us  as  strange  and  intense  a sensation  of 
remote  and  almost  unimaginable  beauty  as  it  is 
possible  to  obtain.  There  are  some  songs  in  this 
book,  — love  songs  and  letters  from  its  strange 
and  pitiful  barbaric  heroine,  — which  are  as  full  of 
metaphor  as  the  Song  of  Solomon,  and  as  fresh 
from  the  heart  of  Nature  as  the  gypsy  music  of 
Hungary. 

In  Pecheur  dTslande  ” he  tells  the  simple 
love  story  of  an  Iceland  fisherman,  and  strikes 
down  to  the  primal  roots  of  human  pathos  with 
the  old,  old  tragedy  of  love  and  death.  His  sym- 
pathy for  the  hardships  and  dangers  of  this  fisher- 
folk  of  his  own  home,  described  with  the  unerring 
familiarity  of  old  acquaintance,  appeals  to  all  pure 
and  tender  emotions,  and  proves  the  inherent  no- 
bility of  his  nature.  All  the  beautiful  qualities  of 
his  heart  and  brain  have  flowered  in  this  work. 
It  may  be  doubted  if  any  living  writer  of  the 
French  language  combines  it  with  such  indescrib- 
able melody  as  does  Pierre  Loti;  and  nowhere 
are  its  fascinating  delicacies,  its  exquisite  reserves 
of  sound,  and  its  sensuous  and  generous  vocables 
more  harmoniously  fortunate  than  when  he  de- 
scribes the  mysterious  splendors  of  the  Iceland 
skies,  and  the  remote  and  solemn  silences  of  its 
treacherous  icy  seas.  The  realism  of  this  con- 
summate performance  is  so  consistent  and  so  great 
that  the  memory  of  its  word-pictures  confounds 
itself  in  the  mind  with  that  of  Jules  Breton’s  heroic 
peasants,  and  leaves  in  the  heart  the  lesson  of  a 


Vlll 


TRANSLATOR'S  PREFACE. 


deep  and  large  humanity.  As  he  is  artist  in  his 
word-visions,  he  is  melodist  in  his  word-tones. 
When  Nature  rolls  a Breton  and  a Schubert  into 
one,  SiaowsTrinTwith  an  invincible  and  indescrib- 
able personal  'fascihatibn,  sets  him  free  to  wander 
over  the  face  of  the  earth  and  the  sea,  and  then 
gives  him  a voice,  it  is  worth  while  to  listen  to 
what  he  has  to  say.  It  has  been  the  translator’s 
nest  wish  to  convey  to  a yet  larger  number 
Pierre  Loti’s  most  perfect  utterance  of  the  ro- 
mance of  pure  humanity  in  the  English  transla- 
tion of  “ Pecheur  d’Islande.” 


A.  F.  de  K. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


PART  I. 

CHAPTER  I. 

were  huge,  rough- looking  fellows, 
five  of  them,  as  they  sat  there 
iking,  with  their  elbows  on  the 
le,  in  a dingy,  stuffy  little  den 
which  smelt  of  brine  and  of  the  sea.  The  place 
was  too  low  for  them,  and  narrowed  down  at  one 
end  like  the  inside  of  a great  hollow  sea-mew, 
and  with  a monotonous,  creaking  sound,  seemed 
to  be  rocking  gently  and  drowsily  to  and  fro. 

From  within  no  one  could  have  told  that  out- 
side lay  night  and  the  sea,  for  the  single  opening 
in  the  roof  was  closed  by  a wooden  hatch- cover, 
while  an  old  lamp  which  hung  swinging  to  and 
fro  lit  up  the  place. 


lO 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


There  was  a fire  in  the  stove,  and  the  steam 
which  rose  from  their  damp  clothing,  as  it  dried, 
mingled  with  the  smoke  of  their  clay  pipes. 
f A heavy  table  took  up  nearly  the  whole  cabin, 
to  which  it  was  carefully  proportioned,  leaving 
barely  room  enough  for  them  to  get  around  it,  in 
order  to  seat  themselves  on  the  narrow  chests 
screwed  to  the  oaken  walls.  Great  beams  crossed 
the  ceiling  above  them,  which  nearly  touched  their 
heads ; and  behind  their  backs  were  bunks  which 
seemed  hollowed  out  of  the  thickness  of  the  wood, 
and  looked  like  niches  in  a cave  for  the  dead. 
The  clumsy  woodwork  was  worm-eaten,  impreg- 
nated with  damp  and  salt,  and  worn  and  polished 
by  the  rubbing  of  their  hands. 

They  had  been  drinking  wine  and  cider  from 
their  mugs,  and  their  frank,  open  faces  expressed 
contentment  with  life.  Now,  still  seated  at  the 
table,  they  were  chatting,  Breton  fashion,  over 


the  questions  of  love  and  marriage. 

Against  a bulkhead  at  one  end  of  the  cabin, 
mounted  on  a bracket,  a Holy  Virgin  in  faience 
held  the  place  of  honor.  She  was  somewhat 
ancient,  this  patroness  of  the  sailors,  and  crudely 
painted.  But  china  people  last  longer  than  real 
ones ; and  her  dress  of  red  and  blue  still  made 
a very  fresh  little  bit  of  color  among  the  dull 
grays  of  the  poor  wooden  cabin.  She  must  have 
heard  many  an  ardent  prayer  in  hours  of  dan- 
ger; and  some  one  had  nailed  at  her  feet  two 
bouquets  of  artificial  flowers  and  a rosary. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


1 1 

The  five  men  were  dressed  alike  in  thick  blue 
woollen  jerseys  which  covered  their  bodies  and 
were  tucked  into  the  waist-bands  of  their  trou- 
sers ; on  their  heads  was  a kind  of  tarpaulin  hat, 
called  sou’wester  ” from  the  name  of  that  south- 
west wind  which  in  our  part  of  the  world  always 
brings  rain.  They  were  of  different  ages.  The 
captain  might  have  been  forty ; three  others  ranged 
from  twenty-five  to  thirty ; while  the  last,  whom 
they  called  Sylvestre  or  Lurlu,  was  only  seventeen. 
He  was  already  a man  in  strength  and  size,  and 
a very  thick  and  curly  black  beard  covered  his 
cheeks ; but  his  eyes,  bluish  gray  and  extremely 

I sweet  and  innocent  in  expression,  were  still  those 
of  a child. 

Shut  up  in  their  dismal  den,  and  crowded  close 
together  for  lack  of  room,  they  seemed  neverthe- 
less to  be  quite  happy  and  content ; and  outside 
was  night  and  the  sea,  and  the  wide  desolation 
of  dark  and  fathomless  waters.  A copper  clock 
fastened  against  the  wall  marked  eleven  o ’clock, 
— eleven  in  the  evening,  of  course,  — and  on  the 
wooden  roof  above  could  be  heard  the  sound 
of  the  falling  rain.  They  were  talking  together 
verygayly  over  this  subject  of  marriage,  but  with- 
out saying  anything  vulgar  or  in  any  way  improper. 
No ; they  were  discussing  only  the  love  affairs  of 
those  who  were  still  unmarried,  or  were  probably 


12 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


the  pleasures  of  courting ; but  love  among  weather- 
beaten sailors  like  these  is  always  wholesome,  and 
remains  pure  on  account  of  its  very  simplicity. 

But  Sylvestre  meantime  was  restless  over  the 
absence  of  another  sailor  whom  they  called  Jean, 
— a name  which  the  Bretons  pronounce  Yann.” 

Where  indeed  was  Yann?  Was  he  always  at 
work  on  deck?  Why  did  he  not  come  down  and 
take  his  part  in  the  feast? 

Well,”  said  the  captain,  it  ^s  nearly  mid- 
night.” 

And  getting  up,  he  lifted  the  wooden  hatch- 
cover  with  his  head  and  called  out  from  there 
to  Yann,  while  a strange  light  fell  in  from  above. 

Yann,  Yann  ! ” and  ‘‘  Hello  ! you  there  ! ” 
Some  one  answered  roughly  from  without.  \ 
This  pale,  pale  light  that  came  through  while 
the  hatchway  was  opened  for  an  instant  was  veryj 
much  like  that  of  day.  Nearly  midnight.” 
Nevertheless  it  was  like  a ray  of  sunlight,  — a de- 
parting twilight  ray  sent  from  afar  across  myste- 
\^rious  mirrors. 


When  the  hole  was  shut,  night  came  once  more, 
the  little  hanging  lamp  began  to  burn  yellow  again, 
and  Yann  could  be  heard  clattering  down  the 
wooden  ladder  in  his  clumsy  sabots.  As  he  came 
in,  he  was  obliged  to  bend  himself  nearly  double 
like  a great  bear,  for  he  was  almost  a giant ; and 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  1 3 

If  anything  he  was  a little  too  much  above 
the  ordinary  height,  and  seemed  more  so,  as  he 
carried  himself  as  straight  as  a ramrod.  As  he 
turned  toward  them  at  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  the 
muscles  of  his  shoulders  could  be  seen  standing 
out  in  great  knots  under  his  blue  jersey.  He 
had  very  expressive,  large  brown  eyes  with  a 
look  in  them  which  was  fiery  and  untamed. 

Sylvestre,  putting  his  arm  around  this  Yann, 
drew  him  affectionately  toward  him  like  a child. 
He  was  betrothed  to  Yann’s  sister,  and  treated 
him  like  an  elder  brother;  and  Yann,  like  a 
good-natured  lion,  permitted  himself  to  be  ca- 
ressed, smiling  and  showing  his  white  teeth  in 
reply.  His  teeth,  having  more  room  than  is 
usually  the  case,  seemed  a little  far  apart  and 
quite  small.  His  blond  mustache  was  quite 
short,  although  he  never  shaved  it,  and  curled 
very  closely  in  two  symmetrical  little  waves  over 
his  lips,  which  were  exquisitely  beautiful  in  shape, 
and  then  burst  into  two  little  tufts  on  either  side 
of  the  deep  corners  of  his  mouth.  The  rest  of 
his  face  was  smoothly  shaved,  and  his  cheeks  were 
as  rosy  and  as  fresh  as  unpicked  fruit. 

They  filled  up  their  glasses  again  when  Yann 
sat  down,  and  called  the  cabin-boy  to  put  fresh 
tobacco  in  their  pipes  and  relight  them.  This 
gave  the  boy  a chance  to  take  a sly  whiff  him- 
self. He  was  a strong  young  lad,  with  a round 
face,  a sort  of  cousin  to  all  the  crew,  who  were 
all  more  or  less  related;  and  except  that  his 


14 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


work  was  hard  enough,  he  was  the  spoiled  child  of 
the  ship. 

Yann  made  him  drink  a little  out  of  his  glass 
and  then  they  sent  him  to  bed.  After  this  they 
took  up  again  the  great  subject  of  marriage. 

“ And  you,  Yann,”  asked  Sylvestre,  “ when  are 
you  going  to  get  married?  ” 

“ Aren’t  you  ashamed,”  said  the  captain,  “ a 
great  fellow  like  you  — twenty- seven  years  old  — 
and  not  married  yet?  What  must  the  girls  think 
when  they  see  you  ? ” 

But  Yann,  shrugging  his  huge  shoulders,  care- 
lessly replied, — 

“ Oh,  I’ll  get  married  some  day,  but  not  till  I 
feel  like  it.” 

He  had  just  finished  his  five  years  of  service  to 
the  State,  this  Yann,  and  it  was  during  this  time  that 
as  a gunner  on  board  a man-of-war  he  had  learned 
to  speak  French  and  to  hold  sceptical  opinions. 

He  now  began  to  relate  how  for  his  last  ad- 
venture he  had  been  in  love  with  a singer  at  a 
cafe  chantant  in  Nantes. 

One  evening,  just  after  landing,  when  he  was  a 
little  tipsy,  he  had  gone  into  an  alcazar.  There 
was  a woman  at  the  door  selling  enormous  bouquets 
at  twenty  francs  apiece.  Without  thinking  much 
what  he  was  doing,  he  bought  one  and  then  threw 
it  with  a turn  of  his  arm  right  in  the  face  of  the 
singer  on  the  stage,  — partly  in  admiration,  and 
partly  in  scorn  of  the  painted  doll,  whose  cheeks 
he  found  by  far  too  rosy. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  i 7 

than  real  cold,  and  in  breathing,  tasted  strongly  of 
salt.  The  sea  was  calm,  and  the  rain  had  ceased. 
The  shapeless  and  colorless  clouds  above  seemed  to 
contain  a hidden  light  v/hich  came  from  one  knew 
not  whence ; one  could  see  quite  clearly  while 
feeling  yet  the  presence  of  the  night ; and  every 
object  was  pale  with  an  indefinable  whiteness. 

The  three  men  standing  there  had  passed  all 
their  lives  since  childhood  on  these  icy  seas,  in 
the  midst  of  fantasies  of  sea  and  sky  as  vague 
and  troubled  as  visions  of  the  night.  All  this  in- 
finite panorama  of  chaos  they  were  accustomed  to 
watch  from  their  little  wooden  craft,  and  their 
eyes  were  used  to  the  sight  of  it,  like  those  of  the 
great  birds  that  fly  over  the  open  sea. 

The  ship  rocked  slowly  at  anchor,  giving  out 
the  same  complaint,  as  monotonous  as  an  old 
chanson  of  Brittany  repeated  in  a dream  by 
one  asleep. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  had  rapidly  prepared  their 
hooks  and  lines,  while  the  other  man  opened  a 
barrel  of  salt,  sharpened  his  great  knife,  and  sat 
down  to  wait  behind  them.  It  was  not  for  long, 
for  hardly  had  they  cast  their  lines  into  the  still 
and  icy  water  when  they  hauled  them  up  again 
heavy  with  great  fish  of  a glittering  gray,  like  steeL 
And  still  the  cod  took  the  bait,  and  the  haul  went 
on,  rapid,  incessant,  and  in  silence.  The  other 
man  cut  them  open  with  his  great  knife,  flattened, 
salted,  and  counted  them,  while  behind  them,  all 
fresh  and  dripping,  the  briny  pile  which  was  to 
2 


1 8 AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

make  their  fortunes  on  their  return  grew  larger 
and  larger. 

The  hours  went  by  monotonously,  and  without, 
over  the  measureless,  deserted  plains  of  the  sea, 
the  light  was  slowly  changing ; and  now  it  seemed 
a little  less  unreal.  What  had  been  a wan,  pale 
twilight,  like  a summer  evening  at  the  North 
Pole,  had  now,  with  no  intervening  night,  become 
an  aurora,  which  all  the  glittering  mirrors  of  the 
sea  were  reflecting  in  trembling  rays  of  rose. 

You  certainly  ought  to  get  married,  Yann,” 
said  Sylvestre,  suddenly,  with  his  eyes  on  the 
water,  very  seriously  this  time.  He  spoke  as  if 
he  knew  very  well  of  some  one  in  Brittany  who 
had  lost  her  heart  to  those  great  brown  eyes  of 
his  brother;  but  he  feared  to  broach  lightly  so 
serious  a subject. 

I,  yes,  one  of  these  days  I will  get  mar- 
ried,” said  Yann,  with  his  disdainful  smile,  while 
his  eyes  flashed  ; but  not  to  any  of  those  country 
girls.  No  ! as  for  me,  I shall  marry  the  sea,  and 
/ I invite  you  all,  everybody  on  hoard,  to  the  ball 
I shall  give.” 

They  went  on  fishing,  for  they  had  no  time  to 
waste  in  talking ; they  were  in  the  midst  of  an 
immense  travelling  shoal  of  fish,  which  had  been 
two  days  passing,  and  they  were  not  out  of  it  yet. 
They  had  all  stayed  up  the  night  before,  and  had 
caught  in  thirty  hours  more  than  a thousand 
enormous  cod,  until  their  strong  arms  were  weary 
and  they  had  almost  fallen  asleep.  Sometimes 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  1 9 

their  bodies  only  kept  awake  and  went  on  fishing 
mechanically,  while  for  a moment  their  minds 
floated  off  to  sleep.  But  this  ocean  air  they  were 
breathing  was  as  pure  as  in  the  first  days  of  the 
world,  and  so  invigorating  that  their  lungs  ex- 
panded and  their  cheeks  grew  rosy  in  spite  of 
their  fatigue. 

The  morning  light,  the  real  light,  had  finally 
come,  and  as  in  Genesis,  it  was  divided  from 
the  darkness,^’  which  seemed  to  be  heaped  up 
over  the  horizon  and  to  rest  there  heavily  in 
shadowy  masses ; and  now  that  one  could  see  so 
clearly  one  could  easily  tell  that  night  had  been 
left  behind  and  that  that  former  radiance  had 
been  as  strange  and  vague  as  the  light  of  a 
dream. 

Here  and  there  in  the  thick  and  overhanging 
sky  there  were  rents  like  windows  in  a dome, 
through  which  great  shafts  of  golden,  rosy  light 
shot  down. 

The  lower  clouds  lay  in  a band  of  deep  shadow 
all  about  the  horizon,  infolding  the  ocean  dis- 
tances in  dim  obscurity,  producing  the  illusion  of 
an  enclosed  space ; they  were  like  curtains  drawn 
over  the  infinite,  like  veils  let  down  to  conceal 
mysteries  too  gigantic  for  the  imagination  of  men. 
This  morning,  around  the  little  craft  which  was 
carrying  Yann  and  Sylvestre,  the  changing  world 
had  taken  on  the  look  of  a vast  cloister,  — a 
sanctuary,  where  the  rays  of  light  which  came 
through  the  rifts  in  the  temple’s  dome  fell  in  long 


20 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


reflected  rays  upon  the  motionless  water,  as  on  a 
pavement  of  marble.  And  then,  little  by  little,  in 
the  growing  light  another  vision  appeared  from 
afar,  — a towering  promontory  of  gloomy  Iceland 
cut  out  like  a rosy  cameo  against  the  dull  gray 
sky.  ^ 

Yann’s  marriage  with  the  sea,  — Sylvestre  kept 
thinking  of  it  while  he  went  on  fishing,  not  daring 
to  say  another  word.  He  was  sorry  to  hear  the 
sacrament  of  marriage  turned  to  a jest  by  his  big 
brother ; then,  too,  it  had  frightened  him,  — for 
he  was  superstitious. 

He  had  been  thinking  so  long  over  this  mar- 
riage of  Yann,  and  he  had  dreamed  that  it  might 
be  with  Gaud  M^vel,  a blond  girl  of  Paimpol,  and 
that  he  might  have  the  joy  of  dancing  at  the  feast 
before  he  left  for  his  service  to  the  State,  — that  five 
years’  exile,  from  which  he  might  never  return, 
and  the  knowledge  of  whose  inevitable  approach 
was  already  beginning  to  weigh  upon  his  heart. 

Four  o’clock  in  the  morning.  The  three 
others,  who  had  been  sleeping  below,  came  up 
together  to  relieve  them.  Still  half  asleep,  and 
taking  in  deep  breaths  of  the  cold  air,  they 
climbed  up,  pulling  on  their  long  boots  on  the 
way,  and  half  shutting  their  eyes,  which  were  daz- 
zled by  the  million  reflected  rays  of  the  white 
morning  light. 

Then  Yann  and  Sylvestre  made  a rapid  break- 
fast of  biscuits,  breaking  them  with  a mallet  and 
munching  them  with  a great  deal  of  noise,  laugh- 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  2 1 

ing  at  finding  them  so  hard.  They  had  become 
quite  gay  again  at  the  prospect  of  going  down  to 
sleep  and  getting  warm  in  their  bunks ; and  with 
their  arms  around  each  other  they  danced  away 
toward  the  hatchway  to  the  air  of  an  old  song. 

But  before  they  disappeared  down  the  hole 
they  stopped  to  play  with  a certain  Turk,”  — the 
ship’s  dog,  a young  Newfoundland,  who  still  had 
the  sprawling  awkward  paws  of  a puppy.  They 
poked  at  him  and  teased  him,  while  he  snapped 
at  their  hands  like  a wolf,  and  finally  ended  in 
hurting  them.  Then  Yann,  with  a flash  of  anger 
in  his  changeable  eyes,  gave  him  a blow  which 
knocked  him  over  and  made  him  howl. 

Yann  had  a good  heart,  but  when  his  passions 
were  aroused,  a pleasant  caress  with  him  was 
something  very  near  to  brutal  violence. 


CHAPTER  II. 

Their  boat  was  called  the  ‘‘  Marie,”  Captain 
Guermeur ; and  every  year  when  the  great  season 
of  cod-fishing  came  round,  she  set  sail  for  those 
dangerous  icy  regions  whose  summers  know  no 
nights. 

She  was  very  old,  like  her  patroness,  the  china 
Virgin.  Her  thick  sides,  with  their  timbers  of 
oak,  were  seamed,  rough,  and  impregnated  with 
brine  and  dampness,  but  stout  and  whole  withal^ 


22 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


and  exhaling  the  refreshing  odor  of  pitch.  When 
lying  to,  she  had  a heavy  look,  with  her  massive 
build ; but  when  the  great  west  winds  began  to 
blow  she  regained  her  strength  and  lightness  like 
a sea-mew,  whom  the  wind  awakes.  And  then 
she  had  a way  of  breasting  the  waves  and  bound- 
ing over  them  more  lightly  than  many  a younger 
ship  designed  with  all  modern  improvements  in 
shape  and  build. 

As  for  the  crew,  the  six  men  and  the  cabin- 
boy,  they  were  “ Icelanders,”  — a hardy  race  of 
sailors  inhabiting  principally  the  country  of 
Paimpol  and  Tr^guier,  and  among  whom  the  pro- 
fession of  cod-fishing  is  handed  down  sacredly 
from  father  to  son. 

They  had  hardly  ever  seen  a summer  in 
France. 

At  the  end  of  every  winter,  in  the  port  of 
Paimpol,  with  the  other  fishermen  they  receive 
the  benediction  of  departure. 

For  this  fete-day  an  altar,  always  in  the  same 
way,  is  built  on  the  quay.  It  is  made  to  imitate 
a rocky  grotto,  and  in  the  midst,  surrounded  by 
trophies  of  anchors,  nets,  and  oars,  sits  enthroned 
the  Virgin,  patroness  of  sailors,  who  has  come  out 
of  her  church  for  their  sake.  Sweet  and  impas- 
sive she  sits,  with  the  same  lifeless  eyes,  which 
from  generation  to  generation  have  seen  depart- 
ing those  happy  ones  for  whom  the  season  would 
prove  fortunate,  and  the  unhappy,  destined  never 
to  return. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


23 


The  Holy  Sacrament,  followed  in  slow  proces- 
sion by  wives  and  mothers,  sisters  and  sweet- 
hearts, makes  the  tour  of  the  harbor,  where  all 
the  Iceland  fishing- boats,  drawn  up  ready  to  sail, 
dip  their  flags  as  it  passes ; and  the  priest,  stop- 
ping before  each  one,  says  the  prayers  and  makes 
the  gestures  which  give  the  blessing. 

Then  they  depart  like  a fleet,  leaving  the  coun- 
try nearly  empty  of  husbands,  lovers,  and  sons ; 
and  as  they  sail  away  the  crews  sing  together  in 
a loud  and  ringing  chorus  the  hymns  to  Marie, 
Star  of  the  Sea.’’ 

Every  year  there  are  the  same  ceremonials 
of  departure,  the  same  farewells. 

And  then  begins  again  the  life  on  the  open 
sea,  the  isolation  but  for  three  or  four  rough  com- 
panions on  the  moving  ship  in  the  midst  of  the 
icy  waters  of  the  north  sea. 

Just  now  they  were  returning,  for  the  Virgin 
Star  of  the  Sea  had  protected  the  ship  which  bore 
her  name.  . 

The  end  of  August  waifife  time  for  their  re- 
turn. But  the  Marie  ” followed  the  custom 
of  many  of  the  Icelanders,  which  was  to  touch 
merely  at  Paimpol,  and  afterward  to  go  down 
into  the  Gulf  of  Gascogne  to  find  a good  market 
for  their  fish,  and  to  buy  salt  for  the  next  cam- 
paign in  the  salt  marshes  of  its  low  Sand  Islands. 

In  these  southern  ports,  still  warm  with  the 
sun,  the  hardy  sailors  scatter  for  a day  or  two,  — 
eager  for  pleasure,  and  intoxicated  by  the  remain- 


24 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


ing  fragment  of  the  summer,  the  touch  of  the 
earth,  and  the  milder  air. 

And  then  with  the  first  frosts  of  autumn  they 
return  to  their  homes  in  Paimpol,  or  in  the  coun- 
try of  Gaelo  round  about,  to  busy  themselves  with 
love  affairs  and  family  affairs,  with  marriages  and 
births.  Almost  always  they  find  little  new-comers, 
whom  their  fathers  have  never  seen,  waiting  for 
their  return  to  be  christened.  They  have  need 
of  many  children,  this  race  of  fishermen,  whom 
Iceland  devours. 


CHAPTER  III. 

At  Paimpol,  one  beautiful  Sunday  evening  in 
June,  two  women  were  very  busy  writing  a letter. 

They  were  sitting  before  a large  open  window, 
on  whose  old  and  massive  granite  sill  was  ar- 
ranged a row  of  flower-pots. 

As  they  leaned  over  the  table  they  both  seemed 
to  be  young ; one  wore  a very  large  head-dress 
after  the  fashion  of  long  ago,  and  the  other 
a very  small  one,  of  the  new  shape  which  the 
women  of  Paimpol  had  adopted,  — two  sweet- 
hearts, one  would  have  said,  concocting  together 
a tender  message  to  some  handsome  fisherman. 

I The  one  who  was  dictating  — she  of  the  large 
I cap  — suddenly  raised  her  head  as  if  thinking  of 
something  to  say,  when,  lo  I she  was  old,  very 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


25 


old,  in  spite  of  her  girlish  figure  seen  thus  from  ^ 
behmd,  under  her  little  brown  shawl ; indeed  | 
quite  old,  — a good  grandmother  of  at  least  sev-  | 
enty  years,  — but  still  pretty  in  a way,  and  fresh-  | 
looking,  with  the  very  ruddy  cheeks  such  as  some 
old  people  have  a way  of  retaining.  Her  cap,  | 
coming  low  over  the  forehead  and  crown  of  her  \ 
head,  was  composed  of  two  or  three  large  horns  | 
of  muslin,  which  seemed  to  emerge  one  out  of  f 
the  other,  falling  finally  over  the  nape  of  her  | 
neck.  Her  venerable  face  was  admirably  framed  | 
in  all  this  whiteness  and  these  rigid  nunlike  folds.  | 
Her  eyes  were  very  sweet  in  expression  and  full  | 
of  honest  goodness.  She  had  not  a trace  of  a j 
tooth  left,  and  when  she  smiled,  the  round  baref 
gums  which  one  saw  instead  were  like  a child’s.  | 

In  spite  of  her  chin,  which  had  come  to  resemi 
ble,  as  she  often  said  herself,  ‘Hhe  point  of  a- 
sabot,”  her  profile  was  by  no  means  entirely! 
spoiled  by  the  years,  and  one  could  see  still  that ; 
it  must  have  been  as  pure  and  regular  as  a 
Madonna’s. 

She  was  looking  out  of  the  window  now,  think- 
ing what  more  she  could  say  to  amuse  her  grand- 
son. 

Surely  in  all  the  country  of  Paimpol  there  was 
not  to  be  found  so  dear  an  old  dame  as  she,  or 
one  who  could  find  so  much  that  was  funny  to 
say  about  one  thing  and  another,  or  even  about 
nothing  at  all. 

There  were  several  impossible  tales  already  in 


26 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


this  letter,  but  nothing  unkind,  for  there  was 
nothing  unkind  in  her  heart. 

The  other,  seeing  she  had  nothing  more  to  say. 
had  begun  to  write  carefully  the  address,  — 

A Monsieur  Moan,  Sylvestre, 

On  board  the  ''''  Marie Captain  Guermetir, 

in  the  Sea  of  Iceland,,  near  Reikiavik» 

Then  she  also  lifted  her  head,  and  asked,  — 
p Is  that  all.  Grandmother  Moan?  ” 

She  was  young,  adorably  young  (about  twenty, 
one  would  say),  and  very  blond,  which  is  rare 
among  this  brown  race  of  Bretons,  — very  fair  in- 
deed, with  violet  eyes  and  nearly  black  eyelashes. 
Her  eyebrows,  which  were  as  blond  as  her  hair, 
looked  as  if  they  had  been  retouched  in  the 
middle  by  a reddish  line  of  a darker  color,  which 
gave  an  expression  of  will  and  force  to  her  face. 
Her  profile,  although  a little  short,  was  very  noble 
and  beautiful,  the  nose,  as  in  the  Greek  type,  con- 
tinuing the  line  of  the  forehead  with  absolute  cor- 
rectness. A very  deep  dent  just  under  her  lower 
lip  accentuated  its  lines  most  deliciously,  and 
from  time  to  time,  when  she  was  much  occupied 
with  some  thought,  she  would  bite  this  lip  with 
her  white  upper  teeth,  making  it  still  more  rosy. 
There  was  a certain  air  of  pride  and  dignity  about 
her  slight  figure,  which  came  to  her  from  her  an- 
cestors, the  brave  Iceland  sailors,  and  in  her  eyes 
was  an  expression  both  obstinate  and  sweet. 

Her  cap  was  made  in  the  shape  of  a shell,  and 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


27 


came  down  very  low  over  her  forehead,  binding 
it  very  closely,  then,  brought  up  quite  high  on 
either  side,  it  showed  two  thick,  long  yellow  locks 
rolled  into  little  coils  over  her  ears,  — a very 
antique  fashion  of  arranging  the  hair,  which  gives 
an  old-time  look  to  the  women  of  PaimpoL 
One  could  easily  see  that  she  had  been  brought 
up  in  a different  way  from  the  poor  old  woman 
whom  she  called  grandmother,^*  but  who  was 
in  fact  only  a great-aunt  who  had  met  with  mis- 
fortunes. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  M.  M^vel,  an  old  Ice- 
lander, who  was  something  of  a pirate,  and  had 
grown  rich  through  his  dangerous  traffic  on  the 
high  seas.,^^his  pretty  room  where  the  letter 
had  just  been  written  belonged  to  her ; the  bed 
was  quite  new,  and  decorated  in  city  fashion 
with  muslin  curtains  bordered  with  lace,  and  on 
the  thick  walls  was  a light-colored  paper  which 
softened  the  irregularities  of  the  stone.  On  the 
ceiling  there  was  a coat  of  whitewash  covering 
the  enormous  beams  which  showed  the  age  of  the 
cottage.  It  was  in  fact  just  the  house  of  a well- 
to-do  bourgeois ; and  the  windows  looked  out  on 
the  old  weather-stained  market-place  of  Paimpol, 
where  also  religious  festivals  were  held. 

It  *s  finished,  Grandmother  Yvonne  ? You 
have  nothing  more  to  say  to  him?*’ 

No,  my  child ; only  add,  please,  my  regards 
to  young  Gaos.** 

Young  Gaos,  otherwise  Yann. 


28 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


She  colored  deeply,  the  proud  young  beauty, 
as  she  wrote  this  name. 

When  she  had  put  it  at  the  bottom  of  the  page, 
in  a running  hand,  she  got  up  and  turned  away 
her  head,  as  if  to  look  at  something  very  interest- 
ing outside  in  the  market-place.  As  she  stood 
up,  she  seemed  rather  tall,  and  her  figure  looked 
finely  moulded,  like  that  of  a woman  of  fashion, 
in  a dress  which  fitted  without  a wrinkle. 

In  spite  of  her  cap,  she  had  the  air  of  a young 
lady ; and  her  hands,  without  having  that  dainty 
and  helpless  littleness  which  fashion  has  made  a 
beauty,  were  white  and  refined,  never  having  done 
any  rough  work.-^  It  is  true  she  began  by  being  a 
little  tomboy,  running  barefoot  in  the  water,  hav- 
ing no  mother,  and  left  to  run  almost  wild  dur- 
ing the  fishing  seasons,  when  her  father  had  gone 
to  Iceland ; pretty,  rosy,  uncombed,  wilful,  and 
headstrong,  she  had  grown  up  strong  and  healthy 
in  the  fresh,  sharp  air  of  the  Channel.  During 
this  time  she  was  taken  care  of  in  the  summers 
by  poor  Grandmother  Moan,  who  left  Sylvestre  in 
her  charge  during  her  hard  days  of  work  among 
the  towns-folk  of  Paimpol. 

She  adored  this  baby  who  had  been  committed 
to  her  care,  like  a little  mother,  although  she  was 
hardly  eighteen  months  older  than  he,  who  was 
as  dark  as  she  was  fair,  and  as  submissive  and 
good-natured  as  she  was  impulsive  and  capricious. 
She  often  recalled  this  beginning  of  her  life,  this 
girl  whom  money  and  city  life  had  not  spoiled. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


29 


It  came  back  to  her  mind  like  a far-away  dream 
of  wild  liberty,  like  an  echo  of  a vague  and  mys- 
terious time,  when  the  beaches  were  wider,  and 
the  cliffs  surely  much  more  gigantic. 

While  she  was  still  very  young,  only  about  five 
or  six  years  old,  her  father  (vv^ho  having  made  some 
money  had  become  a ship-broker)  took  her  with 
him  first  to  Saint-Brieuc  and  afterward  to  Paris. 

From  little  Gaud,  she  had  become  Mademoi- 
selle Margujerit^,  — a tall  and  serious  girl  v/ith  a 
grave  look  in  her  eyes.^^-Always  a good  deal  left 
to  herself,  although  in  a different  way  from  when 
she  ran  wild  on  the  Breton  sands,  she  still  re- 
tained the  wilful  disposition  of  her  childhood. 
What  she  knew  about  life  she  had  picked  up  hap- 
hazard and  almost  unconsciously,  but  an  innate 
dignity  and  an  unerring  instinct  had  been  her 
safeguards.  Every  now  and  then  she  had  little 
fits  of  audacity,  when  she  surprised  people  by  the 
daring  things  she  said  to  their  very  faces.  When 
young  men  looked  at  her,  she  looked  them  back 
full  and  square  with  her  clear  honest  eyes ; but  her 
look  was  so  fearless  and  so  indifferent  that  they 
could  not  misunderstand  her,  and  could  see  at 
once  that  she  was  an  honest  woman  with  a heart 
as  pure  as  her  face  was  sweet. 

With  city  life  her  dress  had  changed  a good 
deal  more  than  she  had  herself ; and  although  she 
still  wore  her  cap,  which  the  women  of  Brittany 
are  loath  to  give  up,  she  had  learned  very  quickly 
to  dress  herself  in  quite  another  way.  And  the 


30  A AT  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

unconfined  figure  of  the  little  fisher-girl,  as  it  de- 
veloped in  the  vigor  and  perfection  which  her 
childhood  by  the  sea  had  given  her,  had  become 
smaller  at  the  waist  by  the  use  of  stays. 

> She  went  back  every  year  with  her  father  to 
Brittany,  but  in  the  summer  only,  as  if  to  a water- 
ing-place, and  took  up  again  for  a time  the  asso- 
ciations of  her  childhood  and  her  name  of  Gaud 
(which  is  Breton  for  Marguerite) . / And  she  was 
then  )a  little  curious  perhaps  to  see  those  Iceland- 
ers of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much,  who  were 
always  away,  and  from  whose  number  year  by  year 
a few  more  were  always  missing ; and  she  was  ever 
hearing  a great  deal  about  this  Iceland  ” which 
seemed  to  her  then  like  some  far-off  abyss,  where 
he  whom  she  now  loved  had  gone.  And  then  one 
fine  day  she  had  been  brought  back  to  live  among 
these  fishermen  through  a caprice  of  her  father, 
who  wished  to  end  his  days  there  as  a good  citizen 
of  Paimpol. 

The  good  old  grandmother,  so  poor  and  so 
neat,  thanked  her  and  went  away  as  soon  as  the 
letter  had  been  read  over  again  and  sealed  up  in 
its  envelope.  She  lived  quite  far  away,  at  the  be- 
ginning of  the  country  of  Ploubazlanec,  in  a ham- 
let near  the  sea,  in  a cottage  where  she  and  her 
children  and  grandchildren  after  her  had  been 
born.  As  she  went  through  the  village,  she 
nodded  familiarly  to  many  people  who  said 
^^Good-evening”  to  her;  she  was  one  of  the 


A AT  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  31 

oldest  inhabitants  of  the  country,  and  the  last 
remnant  of  a brave  and  respected  family. 

By  wonders  of  care  and  pains  she  managed  to 
look  almost  well-dressed  in  her  poor  mended 
gowns,  which  were  so  old  they  could  scarcely 
hold  together.  She  wore  the  little  brown  shawl 
of  the  women  of  Paimpol,  which  was  her  best, 
over  which  for  more  than  sixty  years  had  fallen 
the  muslin  folds  of  her  cap ; it  was  her  own  wed- 
ding shawl,  first  blue,  then  dyed  for  the  wedding 
of  her  son  Pierre,  since  then  kept  for  Sundays, 
and  still  quite  presentable. 

She  walked  erect,  not  at  all  like  an  old  woman, 
and  really,  in  spite  of  her  chin  turning  up  a little 
too  much,  her  eyes  were  so  pleasant  and  her 
profile  so  fine  that  one  could  not  help  think- 
ing her  pretty.  One  could  see  that  she  was  very 
much  respected  from  the  \.'^y  people  greeted  her. 

On  her  way  she  went  by  the  house  of  her  ‘‘  gal- 
lant,”— a quondam  lover  of  hers  and  a cabinet- 
maker by  trade,  who  now  at  eighty  years  of  age 
passed  his  time  seated  at  his  door,  while  his  sons 
worked  at  the  bench.  He  never  got  over  it,  they 
said,  that  she  would  not  have  him  either  for  a 
first  or  a second  husband ; but  time  had  turned 
his  disappointment  into  a comical  kind  of  feeling, 
half  friendly,  half  spiteful,  and  he  always  called 
out  to  her  as  she  went  by,  Well,  my  dear,  when 
shall  I come  to  take  your  measure?  ” 

She  thanked  him,  saying  that  she  had  not  made 
up  her  mind  to  order  that  particular  garment  yet. 


32 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


The  fact  was  that  the  old  man,  whose  manner 
of  jesting  was  somewhat  ponderous,  meant  a cer- 
tain arrangement  of  pine  boards  which  is  the  last 
of  our  earthly  attire. 

Oh,  well,  whenever  you  wish ; don’t  disturb 
yourself,  my  dear,  only  you  understand.” 

He  had  already  made  the  same  joke  half  a 
dozen  times,  and  to-day  she  could  hardly  laugh  at 
>»^  ig  she  felt  so  tired  and  so  broken  with  her  life  of 
incessant  toil ; and  she  was  thinking  of  her  dear 
grandson,  the  last  one  she  had  left,  who  after  his 
return  from  Iceland  would  have  to  go  off  to  ser- 
vice.” Five  years  ! Perhaps  he  might  even  have 
to  go  to  China,  to  the  war ! Would  she  still 
be  there  when  he  returned  ? A sharp  pain  went 
through  her  heart  at  the  thought.  No,  certainly, 
she  was  not  as  happy  as  she  seemed,  this  poor  old 
woman;  and  her  face  began  to  work  as  if  she 
were  going  to  cry. 

Could  it  be,  was  it  true,  then,  that  they  were  go- 
ing to  take  him  away  from  her,  her  last  grandson  ? 
And  would  she,  alas  ! be  left  to  die  alone,  without 
seeing  him  again? 

It  is  true  that  something  had  been  done  by 
some  gentlemen  in  the  town  whom  she  knew,  to 
have  him  exempted  from  duty,  he  being  the 
only  support  of  his  poor  old  grandmother,  who 
would  soon  be  unable  to  earn  her  living.  But 
the  attempt  had  not  succeeded,  on  account  of 
that  other,  Jean  Moan,  the  deserter,  — an  elder  j 
brother  of  Sylvestre,  who  was  never  spoken  of  in 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


33 


the  family,  but  who  was  living,  nevertheless,  some- 
where in  America,  depriving  his  younger  brother 
of  the  privilege  of  military  exemption. 

And  then,  besides,  they  brought  up  as  an  objec- 
tion the  poor  little  pension  she  received  as  a 
sailor’s  widow ; they  did  not  think  she  was  poor 
enough. 

When  she  had  gotten  home,  she  said  her  prayers 
at  length  for  all  her  dead  sons  and  grandsons,  and 
then  she  prayed  with  earnest  faith  for  her  little 
Sylvestre  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep ; but  she  kept 
thinking  about  this  garment  of  pine  boards,  and 
she  was  terribly  oppressed  in  her  heart  to  feel  so 
old  when  he  was  going  away. 


But  the  girl  remained  seated  at  the  window, 
watching  the  golden  reflections  of  the  setting  sun 
on  the  granite  walls,  and  the  dusky  swallows 
wheeling  in  the  sky. 

Paimpol  is  always  very  quiet  in  these  long  May 
evenings,  even  on  Sundays.  The  young  girls,  who 
have  not  a soul  to  make  love  to  them  even  a lit- 
tle, wander  about  in  twos  and  threes,  dreaming  of 
their  sweethearts  in  Iceland.  — My 
young  Gaos.” 

It  had  disturbed  h^^r  - 
sentence  s’- 


34 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


ing  about  with  the  other  girls  of  her  own  age  and 
her  own  former  position.  And  then,  when  he  came 
out  of  the  caft  and  strolled  about  with  his  pipe,  in 
company  with  two  or  three  old  salts  like  himself, 
he  liked  to  see  her  up  there  framed  in  her  granite 
window  among  the  flowers  — his  daughter,  the 
mistress  of  his  rich  and  comfortable  home. 

Young  Gaos,’'  — in  spite  of  herself  she  looked 
off  toward  that  ocean  which  she  could  not  see, 
but  whose  near  presence  she  felt,  at  the  foot  of 
the  narrow  alleys  through  which  the  boatmen 
come  and  go. 

And  her  thoughts  went  out  over  the  fathomless 
depths  of  that  mighty  enchantress,  — the  ever  fasci- 
nating and  devouring  sea, — away  over  there  to  the 
Polar  seas,  where  the  Marie,”  Captain  Guermeur, 
was  sailing.)^ 

What  a strange  fellow  was  this  Yann  Gaos,  now 
always  evading  her,  although  he  had  once  ad- 
vanced with  such  daring  and  such  sweetness  ! 


Then  in  a long  revery  she  went  over  in  her  mind 
had  happened  the  year  before  when  she 
One  morning  in  December, 
the  Paris  train  left  them, 
just  as  the  cold 
mist. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


35 


it  gave  her  the  sensation  of  stepping  all  at  once 
into  the  ‘Mong  ago,”  — into  the  dim  vistas  of  the 
past.  It  was  so  still  after  Paris  ! The  people 
going  quietly  to  and  fro  in  the  mist,  about  their 
little  affairs,  seemed  to  belong  to  another  world  ! 
And  the  dismal  granite  houses  were  dark  with 
moisture  and  the  shadows  of  the  departing  night. 

All  these  Breton  scenes  which  she  loved  now  so  \ 
much  on  account  of  Yann,  seemed  sad  and  desolate 
enough  that  morning.  The  thrifty  housewives 
were  already  astir,  and  through  the  open  doors 
she  caught  glimpses  of  old-fashioned  rooms  with 
wide  chimneys,  where  the  old  people,  just  out  of 
their  beds,  and  still  in  their  night-caps,  were 
quietly  sitting.  As  soon  as  it  had  grown  a little  / 
lighter,  she  went  into  the  church  to  say  her  prayers. 
And  how  vast  and  shadowy  the  great  nave  seemed 
to  her ; and  how  different  from  the  churches  of 
Paris,  with  its  rude  columns,  worn  at  the  base  by 
the  centuries,  and  its  cave-like  smell  of  age  and 
saltpetre  ! In  a deep  corner  behind  some  col- 
umns a taper  was  burning,  with  a woman  kneeling 
before  it,  doubtless  making  a vow;  the  light  of 
its  slender  flame  was  lost  in  the  dim  spaces  under 
the  arches.  And  suddenly  there  came  over  her 
the  echo  of  a feeling  long  since  forgotten,  — that  1 
kind  of  gloomy  fear  which  she  used  to  feel  when  1 
she  was  quite  little,  and  they  brought  her  on  winter  i 
mornings  for  early  Mass  to  the  church  of  Paimpol.  \ 

She  was  certainly  not  sorry  to  leave  Paris,  al-  / 
though  there  were  so  many  beautiful  and  amusing^ 


i 


36  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

things  to  be  seen  there.  In  the  first  place  she 
felt  almost  cooped  up  there, — she,  in  whose  veins 
ran  the  blood  of  rovers  of  the  deep.  And  then 
she  felt  strange  and  out  of  place.  The  women  of 
Paris  were  made  differently  from  her,  with  their 
small  waists  and  artificially  large  hips ; they  had  a 
different  way  of  walking,  moving  along  in  their 
whaleboned  dresses,  and  she  was  too  sensible 
ever  to  try  to  copy  them  in  the  least.  She 
found  herself  ill  at  ease  in  the  streets  of  Paris, 
with  her  caps  which  she  ordered  every  year 
from  Paimpol,  not  being  conscious  that  if  people 
turned  very  often  to  look  at  her,  it  was  because 
she  was  so  charming. 

She  had  seen  distinguished-looking  people  whom 
she  admired,  but  she  knew  them  to  be  unap- 
proachable ; and  from  the  others  among  the 
lower  classes,  who  would  have  been  glad  of  her 
acquaintance,  she  held  herself  disdainfully  aloof, 
not  thinking  them  worthy  of  it. 

So  she  had  lived  without  friends,  almost  without 
companionship  other  than  that  of  her  father,  who 
was  often  preoccupied  and  often  away.  No,  she 
did  not  regret  a life  of  such  solitude  and  exile. 

But,  nevertheless,  on  this  first  day  she  had  been 
painfully  surprised  by  the  roughness  of  this  Brit- 
tany in  midwinter;  and  the  thought  that  they 
were  going  four  or  five  hours  more  by  carriage  to 
bury  themselves  still  deeper  in  this  melancholy 
country  before  they  would  arrive  at  Paimpol,  dis- 
turbed and  depressed  her. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


37 


So  all  the  afternoon  of  the  gray  winter’s  day 
she  and  her  father  had  travelled  on  in  a little 
dilapidated  old  diligence,  open  to  all  the  winds  of 
heaven,  passing  at  twilight  through  dismal  little 
villages  beneath  naked,  dripping  trees. 

Soon  the  lanterns  had  to  be  lit,  and  then  there 
was  nothing  more  to  be  seen  except  two  rays  of 
green  Bengal  light  which  seemed  to  be  running  on 
either  side  of  the  horses,  which  were  the  lights  of 
their  lanterns  cast  along  the  interminable  hedges 
by  the  roadside.  But  why  this  green  foliage  in 
winter  ? 

Astonished  at  first,  she  leaned  out  to  look  more 
closely,  and  then  it  seemed  as  if  she  remembered. 

The  furze,  — the  same  furze  of  the  cliffs  and 
the  paths,  which  never  grows  yellow  in  the  coun- 
try of  Paimpol.  And  all  at  once  a milder  breeze 
began  to  blow  which  she  thought  she  remem- 
bered also,  and  which  smelt  of  the  sea. 

Toward  the  end  of  their  journey  she  had  been 
thoroughly  aroused  and  interested  by  a thought 
which  suddenly  occurred  to  her. 

. To  be  sure,  since  we  have  come  in  winter 
this  time,  I shall  see  those  handsome  fishermen  of 
Iceland.” 

In  December  they  were  sure  to  be  the"' 
back  again,  — brotb^^  sweetheart^ 


3S 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


And  her  mind  had  been  busy  with  this  thought, 
while  her  feet  were  freezing  in  the  wagon. 

And  see  them  indeed  she  did,  and  had  lost  her 
heart  to  one  of  them. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  first  time  she  ever  saw  Yann  was  the  day 
after  her  arrival,  at  the  feast  of  the  Pardon,*’  of 
the  Icelanders,  which  occurs  on  the  8th  of  De- 
cember, — the  feast-day  of  Our  Lady  of  Good 
News,  patroness  of  fishermen,  — a little  while 
after  the  procession,  when  the  dark  streets  were 
still  hung  with  white  draperies  on  which  had  been 
fastened  ivy  and  holly,  the  foliage  and  flowers  of 
winter.  4- 

At  this  feast  the  rejoicing  seemed  a little  forced 
and  boisterous  under  the  melancholy  sky,  — a joy 
without  gayety,  made  up  of  recklessness  and  de- 
fiance, of  physical  vigor  and  alcohol,  and  over 
which  hung,  less  disguised  than  elsewhere,  the 
universal  menace  of  death. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


39 


partly  on  account  of  their  usual  gait,  and  partly 
because  already  a little  drunk,  and  after  their 
long  absence  at  sea,  looking  curiously  at  the 
women. 


Groups  of  girls  in  white  muslin  caps,  breasts 
heaving,  and  beautiful  eyes  filled  with  the  dreams 
of  the  summer ; old  granite  houses  shutting  in 
the  swarming  crowd ; old  roofs  telling  of  their 
centuries  of  struggle  with  the  west  winds,  and 
with  the  fogs  and  the  rains,  with  all  that  comes 
from  the  sea,  telling  also  of  the  warm  human 
episodes  they  had  sheltered,  ancient  adventurism 
of  daring  and  of  love. 


And  over  all  was  a feeling  of  religious  senfiment, 
a sense  as  of  other  years,  and  a reverence  for 
ancient  observances,  for  the  protecting  symbols 
and  the  white  and  immaculate  Virgin.  Beside 
the  taverns  was  the  church,  its  steps  strewn  with  | 
leaves,  its  shadowy  portal  open  wide,  with  its  > 
odor  of  incense,  its  tapers  glimmering  in  the 
darkness,  and  the  votive  offerings  of  the  sailors  j 
hung  everywhere  over  the  sacred  walls.  And  j 
there  side  by  side  were  girls  with  their  lovers, 
sweethearts  of  missing  sailors,  and  widows  of  the 
lost  and  shipwrecked,  with  their  long  black  shawls 
and  little  crepe  caps,  coming  out  of  the  chapel 
for  the  dead  and  passing  silently  with  downcast 
eyes  through  all  this  noisy  life,  like  a sinister 
warning.  ^ j 

And  over  there  very  near  by  was  the  sea,  the 
eternal  sea,  — the  great  nurse  and  the  great  de- 


40 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


stroyer  of  these  vigorous  generations  of  men, 
she  too  busy  and  unquiet,  making  her  noise, 
taking  her  part  in  the  feast, 
i Gaud  received  a confused  impression  of  all 
this  jumble  of  things. Excited  and  smiling,  she 
was  nevertheless  oppressed  at  heart,  and  felt  a 
sort  of  shuddering  presentiment  take  possession 
of  her  at  the  thought  that  this  country  had  now 
become  her  own  for  good  and  all.  In  the  mar- 
ket-place, where  there  were  shows  going  on  and 
mountebanks  performing,  she  walked  about  with 
her  friends,  who  told  her,  right  and  left,  the  names 
of  the  young  men  of  Paimpol  and  Ploubazlanec. 
Standing  in  front  of  a group  of  these  singers  of 
old  ballads,  with  their  backs  turned  toward  them, 
were  two  or  three  Icelanders. 

Then,  noticing  one  of  them  who  had  the  fig- 
ure of  a giant  and  shoulders  which  were  almost 
too  large,  she  remarked  quietly  with  a touch  of 
irony,  — 

There  is  one  who  is  tall  enough  ! 

Her  manner  of  saying  this  almost  implied,  — 
<‘What  a lumbering  thing  a husband  of  that 
size  would  be  for  his  wife  to  have  around  ! ’’ 

He  turned  around  as  if  he  had  heard  her,  look- 
ing her  over  from  head  to  foot  with  a rapid  glance 
which  seemed  to  say,  — ^ 

‘‘  And  who  is  that  fine  girl,  she  with  the  Paim- 
pol cap,  whom  I have  never  seen  before?  ** 

Then  he  dropped  his  eyes  quickly  for  po- 
liteness^ sake,  seeming  again  to  be  entirely  occu- 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  4 1 

pied  with  the  singers,  and  only  showing  the  back 
of  his  head,  with  its  dark  and  curly  locks  cluster- 
ing over  his  neck. 

Although  Gaud  asked  quite  naturally  the  names 
of  a number  of  others,  she  did  not  dare  ask  his. 
That  beautiful  profile  which  she  could  just  see, 
that  proud  and  almost  haughty  glance,  those 
brilliant  quick  eyes  of  his,  with  their  tawny  gleam, 
had  deeply  impressed  and  almost  frightened  her. 

VBut  it  was  this  very  Yann  Gaos,  this  friend  of 
Sylvestre  of  whom  she  had  heard  so  much  at  the 
Moans’ ; the  evening  of  this  same  fete-day  she 
and  her  father  had  met  him  and  Sylvestre  walking 
along  arm  in  arm,  and  they  had  stopped  to  bid 
them  good-evening. -t- 

As  for  little  Sylvestre,  he  had  immediately  be- 
come a sort  of  brother  to  her  again.  As  they 
were  cousins,  they  had  continued  to  say  ‘‘  thou  ” 
to  each  other.  True,  she  hesitated  a little  at  first 
before  this  great  youth  of  seventeen  with  his  black 
beard ; but  his  clear,  childish  eyes  were  just  as 
of  old,  and  she  soon  became  so  used  to  him  that 
it  seemed  as  if  she  had  never  lost  sight  of  him. 
V/hen  he  came  to  Paimpol,  she  kept  him  to  din- 
ner as  a matter  of  course,  and  he  always  ate  with 
a very  good  appetite,  having  none  too  much  to 
eat  at  home. 

To  tell  the  truth,  Yann  had  not  been  so  very 
polite  to  her  at  this  first  introduction,  at  the 
comer  of  a little  gray,  dusty  street,  all  over-arched 
with  green  branches.  He  had  been  compelled 


42 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


to  take  off  his  hat,  which  he  did  with  a very  grace- 
ful although  slightly  embarrassed  manner;  then, 
having  looked  her  over  with  his  rapid  glance,  he 
turned  his  eyes  away,  seeming  to  be  sorry  they 
had  met,  and  in  a hurry  to  go  on  his  way.  A 
high  west  wind,  which  had  risen  during  the  pro- 
cession, had  strewn  the  ground  with  branches  from 
the  box- trees,  and  spread  dark  gray  curtains  over 
the  sky.  It  all  came  back  to  Gaud  very  plainly 
as  she  recalled  it,  — the  melancholy  closing  in  of 
the  night  at  the  end  of  the  fete ; the  white  sheets 
decked  with  flowers  flapping  with  the  wind ; along 
the  walls  the  noisy  groups  of  Icelanders,  — men 
of  winds  and  tempests,  who  ran  singing  into  the 
taverns,  hurrying  to  escape  the  rain;  and  then 
this  great  fellow  standing  there  before  her,  turn- 
ing away  his  head  as  if  he  was  bored,  and  sorry 
he  had  met  her.  What  a change  had  come  over 
her  sinp^  then  ! And  what  a difference  between 
r the  noise  and  confusion  of  that  twilight  ending  of 
! the  fete  and  the  tranquillity  which  now  reigned ; 
I and  how  silent  and  empty  was  this  same  Paimpol 
j during  the  long  May  twilight  which  kept  her  at 
I her  window,  dreaming,  in  love,  and  alone  1 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


43 


CHAPTER  V. 

second  time  she  saw  him  was  at  a wed- 
ding. Yann  had  been  assigned  to  walk  with  her. 
At  first  she  thought  she  would  not  like  it  very 
well,  to  have  to  promenade  along  the  street  with 
this  great  fellow,  whom  everybody  looked  at  on 
account  of  his  size,  and  who  besides  would  prob- 
ably not  have  a word  to  say  to  her  on  the  way. 
And  then  really  she  was  afraid  of  him,  with  his 
haughty  indifterent  ways. 

At  the  appointed  hour  everybody  had  assem- 
bled for  the  procession,  and  Yann  had  not  yet 
appeared.  Time  went  on  ; he  did  not  come  ; and 
they  were  beginning  to  talk  about  not  waiting 
any  longer  for  him.  Then  she  saw  that  it  was 
for  him  alone  that  she  had  made  herself  pretty, 
and  that  it  made  no  difference  to  her  what  other 
young  men  were  there  ; without  him  the  fete  and 
the  ball  would  be  nothing  to  her. 

Finally 'he  made  his  appearance,  dressed  in  his 
best,  and  made  his  excuses  quite  naturally  to  the 
parents  of  the  bride,  saying  that  a great  shoal  of 
fish  had  quite  unexpectedly  been  signalled  from 
England,  as  being  expected  to  pass  that  night  a 
little  off  D'Aurigny,  and  that  then  every  boat  at 
Ploubazlanec  had  been  hastily  gotten  under  sail. 
There  was  great  excitement  in  the  villages  around, 
— women  running  to  the  wine-shops  in  search  of 


44 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


their  husbands,  pushing  them  even  to  make  them 
run,  making  a great  to-do  themselves  at  helping 
the  crews  and  hoisting  the  sails ; in  short,  there 
was  a regular  hubbub  in  the  place. 

Yann  told  his  story  easily  and  fluently  to  the 
people  who  stood  around,  with  gestures  peculiar 
to  himself,  with  flashing  eyes,  and  a pleasant  smile 
which  showed  his  brilliant  white  teeth.  The  bet- 
ter to  express  the  hurry  of  the  getting  ready  for 
sea  he  gave  from  time  to  time  between  his  sen- 
tences a curious  prolonged  little  hou^  which  is  a 
way  sailors  have  of  expressing  the  idea  of  speed, 
and  sounds  like  the  whistling  of  the  wind. 

He  himself  had  been  obliged  to  look  in  haste 
for  a substitute,  and  to  get  him  accepted  by  the 
captain  of  the  vessel  to  whom  he  had  engaged 
himself  for  the  winter  season.  This  was  the 
reason  why  he  had  been  late;  and  because  he 
had  not  wanted  to  miss  the  wedding  he  would 
have  to  lose  all  his  share  of  the  haul.  His  ex- 
planation was  quite  satisfactory  to  his  audience, 
fishermen  like  himself,  and  nobody  dreamed  of 
blaming  him ; of  course  every  one  knows  that 
everything  in  life  depends  more  or  less  on  the 
chances  of  the  sea,  and  is  subject  to  the  changes 
of  the  weather  and  the  mysterious  migrations  of 
the  fish.'^The  other  Icelanders  who  were  there 
only  regretted  not  having  been  told  in  time,  as 
the  men  of  Ploubazlanec  were  to  take  advantage 
of  that  chance  of  fortune  which  was  passing  by 
on  the  open  sea. 


AIV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


45 


It  was  too  late  then,  — so  much  the  worse,  — 
and  they  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  offer  their  arms 
to  the  girls.V  The  violins  struck  up  and  the  proces- 
sion started  merrily  on  its  way. 

At  first  Yann  had  only  paid  her  those  idle  little 
compliments  with  which  one  would  naturally  ad- 
dress a young  girl  whom  one  knew  but  slightly, 
at  a wedding.  They  were  the  only  ones  who 
were  strangers  to  each  other  among  the  couples 
at  the  wedding,  and  in  fact,  besides  them  there 
were  only  relatives  and  fiances  in  the  procession. 
There  were  two  or  three  pairs  of  lovers  too,  for 
they  get  on  very  fast  in  love-making  in  the  coun- 
try of  Paimpol,  and  they  usually  marry  their  first 
loves. 

^ But  in  the  evening,  during  the  dancing,  when 
they  had  begun  to  talk  again  about  the  pass- 
ing of  this  great  shoal  of  fish,  suddenly  looking 
straight  into  her  eyes  he  made  this  unexpected 
remark,  There  is  no  one  else  in  Paimpol  — and 
even  in  the  world  — who  could  have  made  me 
miss  that  trip ; no,  there  is  certainly  no  one  else 
who  could  have  kept  me  from  my  fishing,  Made- 
moiselle Gaud.’* 

At  first  she  was  astonished  that  this  fisherman 
should  dare  to  speak  thus  to  her,  — to  her  who 
was  almost  the  queen  of  the  ball,  — and  then, 
pleased  and  fascinated,  she  finally  answered, 
‘‘  Thank  you.  Monsieur  Yann,  I too  would  rather 
be  with  you  than  with  any  one  else.” 

That  was  all ; but  from  that  moment  till  the  end 


46 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


of  the  ball  they  spoke  to  each  other  in  a tone  at 
once  lower  and  more  sweet. 

They  danced  in  the  old-fashioned  way  to  the 
music  of  a violin,  the  same  couples  being  almost 
always  together.  When  he  came  back  to  her  after 
having  danced  with  somebody  else  out  of  polite- 
ness, they  smiled  at  each  other  like  old  friends 
and  took  up  their  confidential  conversation  where 
they  had  left  it.  Yann  was  telling  her  quite 
simply  about  his  fisherman’s  life,  of  his  hardships 
and  his  wages,  and  of  the  hard  time  his  parents 
had  had  to  bring  up  the  fourteen  little  Gaoses,  of 
whom  he  was  the  eldest.  At  present  they  were 
in  a little  easier  circumstances,  particularly  on 
account  of  a wreck  which  their  father  had  come 
across  in  the  Channel,  and  which  he  had  sold  for 
ten  thousand  francs  to  the  State.  That  had  en- 
abled them  to  put  an  upper  story  on  their  house, 
which  was  at  the  extremity  of  the  province  of 
Ploubazlanec,  quite  at  the  end  of  the  world,  in 
the  hamlet  of  Pors-Even,  with  a beautiful  view 
over  the  Channel.  It ’s  hard  enough,”  he  said, 
‘‘this  life  of  an  Iceland  fisherman,  to  start  in 
February  for  a country  like  that,  where  it ’s  so 
cold  and  so  dark,  and  the  sea  so  rough.” 

Gaud  went  slowly  over  all  their  conversation  at 
the  ball,  which  she  remembered  as  if  it  were 
yesterday,  as  she  watched  the  May  night  closing 
in  gently  over  Paimpol.  If  Yann  had  had  no  idea 
of  marriage,  why  had  he  told  her  all  these  details 
about  his  life,  which  she  had  listened  to  almost 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


47 


as  if  she  were  engaged  to  him  ? He  certainly  did 
not  seem  like  a man  who  would  want  to  tell  his 
private  affairs  to  every  one. 

It ’s  a good  enough  trade,  all  the  same,’*  he 
said,  and  I shall  never  change  it  for  any  other. 
Some  years  I make  eight  hundred  francs,  some- 
times twelve  hundred,  which  they  give  me  when 
we  get  back,  and  which  I take  to  my  mother.” 
You  give  it  to  your  mother.  Monsieur  Yann?  ” 
Why,  yes.  All  of  it,  always.  It ’s  the  custom 
among  us  Icelanders,  Mademoiselle  Gaud.  [He 
said  this  as  if  it  were  a duty,  and  quite  the  natural 
thing.]  And  as  for  me,  you  would  not  believe 
it,  but  I scarcely  ever  have  any  money.  On 
Sundays  when  I come  to  Paimpol,  Mother  gives 
me  a little.  It ’s  the  same  with  us  all.  And  this 
year  Father  ordered  me  these  new  clothes,  without 
which  I should  not  have  wanted  to  come  to  the 
wedding.  Oh,  no  ! I should  not  have  come  to 
offer  you  my  arm  in  my  last  year’s  clothes.” 

These  new  clothes  of  Yann  did  not  seem  so 
very  elegant  to  her,  who  had  been  accustomed  to 
see  the  well-dressed  Parisians.  The  very  short 
jacket  was  open  over  a waistcoat  of  a somewhat 
old-fashioned  cut ; but  the  figure  underneath  was 
a model  of  perfection,  and  he  danced  superbly. 

Every  time  he  said  anything  to  her  he  looked 
her  smilingly  full  in  the  face  to  see  what  she 
thought  of  it.  And  what  a frank,  honest  look 
there  was  in  his  eyes  as  he  told  her  all  this,  so  that 
she  would  be  sure  to  know  that  he  was  not  rich  ! 


4o 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


And  she  too  smiled  back,  still  looking  in  his 
eyes,  answering  little,  but  listening  with  her  whole 
soul,  more  and  more  astonished,  and  more  and 
more  drawn  toward  him.  And  what  a mixture  he 
was  of  almost  brute  force  and  sweet-tempered 
childishness  ! His  deep  voice,  which  with  others 
was  brusque  and  decided,  became  as  he  talked  with 
her  more  and  more  gentle  and  caressing.  It  was 
for  her  alone  that  it  could  thrill  with  such  sweet- 
ness, like  the  soft  strains  of  a stringed  instrument. 

And  what  a curious  and  unexpected  thing  it 
was  to  find  this  great  fellow,  with  his  indifferent 
ways  and  his  huge  size,  always  treated  at  home 
like  a little  child,  and  thinking  it  quite  natural, 
and  although  he  had  travelled  the  world  over, 
and  been  through  all  kinds  of  dangers,  still  re- 
taining this  respectful  and  absolute  obedience  to 
his  parents  ! 

Gaud  compared  him  with  others,  with  two  or 
three  coxcombs  of  Paris,  — shopmen,  clerks,  and 
the  like,  — who  had  persecuted  her  with  their 
attentions  on  account  of  her  money;  and  he 
seemed  to  her  to  be  the  best  as  well  as  the  hand- 
somest man  she  had  ever  known.  To  put  herself 
on  more  equal  terms  with  him,  she  had  told  him 
that  they  too  had  not  always  been  so  comfortably 
off ; that  her  father  had  begun  by  being  an  Iceland 
fisherman,  and  had  still  much  affection  for  the 
Icelanders ; and  that  she  herself  remembered  run- 
ning barefoot  when  she  was  quite  little  — on  the 
sands  — after  the  death  of  her  poor  mother. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


49 


Oh,  that  night  of  the  ball,  — that  lovely  night, 
the  one  decisive  night  of  her  life,  — it  was  already 
quite  long  past,  since  that  was  in  December  and 
now  it  was  May  ! All  those  handsome  dancers 
were  off  there  fishing  now,  — scattered  over  the 
Iceland  sea,  and  still  seeing  clearly  by  the  pale  sun- 
light in  their  limitless  solitude,  while  the  darkness 
was  gently  falling  over  the  land  of  Brittany. 

Gaud  still  stayed  at  the  window.  The  market- 
place of  Paimpol,  almost  shut  in  by  ancient 
houses,  seemed  more  and  more  gloomy  and  de- 
serted as  the  night  came  on,  and  there  was 
scarcely  a sound  to  be  heard. 

Above  the  houses,  the  still,  luminous  skies 
seemed  to  lift  and  divide  themselves  more  and 
more  from  earthly  things,  which  now  at  this 
twilight  hour  seemed  to  combine  into  one  black 
silhouette  of  old  roofs  and  gables.  Now  and  then 
one  could  hear  a window  or  a door  shutting,  and 
some  old  salt  with  a rolling  gait  coming  out  of  a 
tavern  and  disappearing  down  the  little  dark 
streets,  or  some  belated  girls  coming  home  from 
their  walk,  with  bouquets  of  May-flowers.  One  of 
these  last,  who  was  a friend  of  Gaud,  said  good- 
evening to  her  as  she  passed,  and  with  extended 
arm  held  out  to  her  a branch  of  hawthorn,  as  if 
to  let  her  smell  it.  She  could  still  see  through 
the  clear  shadow  its  little  branches  of  white 
flowers.  There  was  also  another  soft  fragrance 
rising  from  the  gardens  and  courtyards  all  around, 
— the  perfume  of  honeysuckle  blooming  on  the 
4 


50  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

granite  walls  mingled  with  a faint  odor  of  seaweed 
from  the  harbor.  The  last  bats  slid  through  the 
air  with  a silent  flight,  like  things  in  a dream. 

Gaud  had  spent  many  an  evening  at  this  win- 
dow looking  out  on  the  deserted  market-place, 
dfeaming  of  the  absent  Icelanders,  and  thinking 
always  about  this  ball. 

It  had  become  very  warm  toward  the  end  of 
the  wedding,  and  many  heads  began  to  turn. 
She  remembered  Yann  dancing  with  other  women 
or  girls  whom  he  ought  to  have  cared  more  or 
less  about.  She  remembered  how  coolly  and 
condescendingly  he  replied  to  their  advances. 
How  different  he  was  with  them  ! 

He  danced  beautifully,  holding  himself  as  straight 
as  a forest  oak,  and  turning  both  lightly  and  grace- 
fully, with  his  handsome  head  thrown  back.  His 
thick  brown  curls  fell  a little  over  his  forehead  as 
he  danced  ; and  Gaud,  who  was  rather  tall  herself, 
felt  them  touch  her  cap  as  he  leaned  over  to  hold 
her  better  in  a rapid  waltz. 

From  time  to  time  Yann  would  point  to  his  little 
sister  Marie  and  Sylvestre^who  were  engaged,  and 
always  danced  together.  And  he  smiled  very 
pleasantly  to  see  the  two  young  things  so  proper 
and  reserved,  bowing  respectfully  to  each  other 
and  saying  very  pretty  things,  no  doubt,  very  tim- 
idly and  almost  in  a whisper.  He  would  not  have 
wished  it  otherwise,  of  course,  but  it  was  neverthe- 
less very  amusing  to  him,  rover  and  adventurer  as 
he  was,  to  see  them  so  innocent  and  good.  And^ 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


51 


he  would  smile  confidentially  at  Gaud,  as  much  as 
to  say,  ‘‘How  nice  our  little  brother  and  sister 
are,  and  yet  how  funny  it  is  to  watch  them  1 

There  was  much  embracing  at  the  end  of  the 
ball,  — brotherly  kisses,  cousinly  kisses,  kisses  of 
lovers,  all  given  full  on  the  lips  before  everybody  in 
the  most  frank  and  simple  manner  possible.  Yann 
did  not  kiss  Gaud,  of  course ; the  daughter  of 
M.  M^vel  would  not  permit  anything  like  that. 

He  only  held  her  a little  more  tightly  perhaps 
during  the  last  waltzes ; and  she  did  not  resist, 
but  rather  permitted  it,  giving  herself  up  un- 
reservedly. In  this  sudden  whirl  of  deep  and 
delicious  emotion  in  which  she  was  so  completely 
drawn  toward  him,  the  natural  impulses  of  a young 
woman  probably  counted  for  something ; but  it  j 
was  her  heart  which  first  went  out  to  him. 

“ See  the  bold  thing,  the  way  she  is  looking  at 
him  ! remarked  two  or  three  pretty  girls,  who 
held  their  eyes  modestly  cast  down  under  their 
blond  or  dark  eyelashes,  but  who  had  among 
the  dancers  at  least  one  lover,  and  probably  two. 
And  in  fact  she  did  look  at  him  a good  deal,  but 
she  had  this  excuse,  that  he  was  the  first  and  only 
young  man  she  had  ever  noticed  in  her  life. 

And  when  they  parted,  as  the  ball  finally  broke 
up  in  the  early  frosty  morning,  they  bade  each 
other  good-by  in  by  no  means  an  ordinary  way, 
but  more  like  two  lovers,  who  would  meet  on  the 
morrow.  And  then,  on  her  way  home  she  had 
crossed  this  same  market-place  with  her  father, 


52 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


not  tired  at  all,  but  joyful  and  keenly  alive,  feel-  ^ 
ing  that  it  was  happiness  enough  to  exist,  delight- 
ing  in  the  frosty  mist  outside  and  the  pale  gray  ■ 
dawn,  and  finding  a new  charm  and  a new  pleas- 
ure in  everything. 

The  May  night  had  long  since  quite  closed 
down.  The  windows  had  all  been  shut,  one  by 
one,  with  a little  rattle  of  their  latches  ; but  Gaud 
still  stayed  there,  leaving  her  own  window  open. 

The  last  few  passers-by  were  sure  to  say,  as  they 
made  out  the  white  shape  of  her  cap  in  the  dark-  : 
ness,  There ’s  a girl  who ’s  certainly  dreaming  of 
her  lover.’ ^ And  it  was  true ; she  was  dreaming  of  . 
him  and  longing  so  to  cry  ! Her  little  white  teeth 
kept  biting  her  lips,  constantly  smoothing  out  the 
little  fold  which  underlined  the  lower  contour  of 
her  fresh  young  mouth ; and  still  she  gazed  out 
into  the  darkness  of  the  night,  beholding  only 
visions. 

But  after  the  ball,  why  had  she  not  seen  him 
again  ? What  could  have  made  the  change  in  him  ? 
When  she  met  him  by  chance,  he  turned  away 
those  quick  and  brilliant  eyes,  and  looked  as  if 
he  wanted  to  avoid  her.  She  had  often  talked  it 
over  with  Sylvestre,  who  could  not  understand  it 
either. 

But  you  will  have  to  marry  him  all  the  same. 
Gaud,”  he  said,  if  your  father  will  let  you,  for 
you  won’t  find  another  fellow  in  the  country  like  . 
him.  He  is  very  good,  I can  assure  you,  although 
he  may  not  seem  so.  He  almost  never  gets^j  ^ 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


S3 


drunk.  He  is  a little  obstinate  once  in  a while, 
that ’s  true  ; but  at  heart  no  one  is  kinder  than  he. 
You  really  can’t  think  how  good  he  is,  and  such 
a sailor  ! Why,  the  captains  quarrel  every  fishing 
season  to  see  who  shall  get  him.” 

As  far  as  her  father’s  permission  was  concerned, 
she  was  sure  of  getting  that,  for  she  always  had 
her  own  way.  It  mattered  little  that  Yann  was  not 
rich ; a sailor  such  as  he  would  only  need  a little 
loan  for  six  months  or  so,  to  learn  the  coast,  and 
he  would  be  a captain  himself  to  whom  any  ship- 
owner would  be  glad  to  intrust  his  ship.  It 
made  no  difference  that  he  was  so  nearly  a giant 
in  size ; it  might  be  a defect  in  a woman  to  be 
too  large  and  strong,  but  it  does  not  detract  at 
all  from  good  looks  in  a man.  She  had  made 
inquiries,  besides,  without  seeming  to  at  all,  of 
the  country  girls,  who  know  everybody’s  love 
affairs,  and  no  one  had  heard  of  his  being  en- 
gaged to  any  one ; but  without  seeming  to  care 
more  for  one  than  another,  he  went  about  right 
and  left  among  the  girls  in  L^zardrieux  as  well 
as  in  Paimpol. 

One  Sunday  evening,  very  late,  she  saw  him 
pass  under  her  window,  escorting,  with  his  arm 
around  her  waist,  a certain  Jeannie  Caroff,  who 
was  undoubtedly  a very  pretty  girl,  but  whose 
reputation  was  none  of  the  best ; and  how  cruelly 
that  had  hurt  her  ! 

They  told  her  too  that  he  had  a very  violent 
temper,  and  that  one  night  when  he  was  drunk 


54 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


in  a certain  cafe  in  Paimpol  which  the  Icelanders 
frequent,  that  he  had  broken  in  a door  which 
they  would  not  open  for  him,  with  a heavy  mar- 
ble table.  All  that  she  forgave  him ; everybody 
knows  how  sailors  will  act  sometimes  when  the 
fit  takes  them.  But  if  he  really  had  a good 
heart,  why  had  he  sought  her  out  when  she  had 
no  thought  of  him,  only  to  leave  her  afterward? 
Why  had  he  cared  to  look  at  her  all  one  night 
with  that  pleasant  smile  of  his  which  seemed  so 
frank,  and  to  speak  to  her  with  that  sweet  voice, 
confiding  in  her  as  if  she  were  his  sweetheart? 
And  now  she  could  love  no  other.  She  could 
never  change.  Long  ago,  in  this  self-same  place, 
when  she  was  still  a child,  they  used  to  tell 
her  that  she  was  a naughty  little  thing,  and  the 
most  obstinate  child  that  ever  was,  and  so  she 
had  remained.  Beautiful  girl  as  she  was,  with 
her  serious  and  slightly  haughty  ways,  nobody 
had  tried  to  change  her,  and  at  heart  she  was 
just  the  same. 

The  whole  of  the  last  winter,  after  the  ball,  she 
had  passed  in  the  expectation  of  seeing  him 
again;  and  he  did  not  even  come  to  bid  her 
good-by  before  leaving  for  Iceland.  Now^  that 
he  had  gone,  she  had  no  longer  any  interest 
in  anything ; the  time  dragged  slowly ‘'on  toward 
that  return  in  the  autumn,  for  which  she  had 
made  so  many  plans  to  unravel  the  whole  mys- 
tery and  have  done  with  it. 

Eleven  by  the  town  clock.  It  rang  out  with  { 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


55 


that  curious  tone  that  bells  have  in  still  spring 
nights.  Eleven  o’clock  at  Paimpol  is  very  late 
indeed,  and  Gaud  shut  her  window,  and  lit  her 
lamp  to  go  to  bed. 

Perhaps  it  was  only  his  bad  manners,  or  be- 
cause he  was  so  proud  and  afraid  of  being  refused 
because  she  was  rich.  She  had  already  made 
up  her  mind  to  ask  him  quite  simply  what  was 
the  matter ; but  Sylvestre  thought  it  would  not 
do,  that  it  would  not  be  nice  for  a young  girl  to 
seem  so  forward.  People  in  Paimpol  had  already 
criticised  her  dress  and  manners. 

Gaud  took  off  her  clothes  slowly  and  absently  as 
if  lost  in  a dream.  First  her  muslin  cap,  and 
then  her  pretty  dress,  made  in  city  style,  which 
she  threw  carelessly  over  a chair. 

And  her  figure,  when  once  it  v/as  free  and  no 
longer  confined  and  drawn  in  at  the  waist,  be- 
came more  perfect,  regaining  its  natural  lines, 
which  were  as  graceful  and  perfectly  rounded  as 
those  of  a marble  statue,  — a statue  all  alive,  and 
constantly  changing  with  her  movements,  but 
whose  every  attitude  was  charming. 


The  little  lamp,  burning  alone  at  that  late 
hour,  lit  up  almost  mysteriously  her  neck  and 
shoulders,  whose  loveliness  no  one  had  ever  yet 
beheld,  and  which  would  doubtless  fade  away 
unseen,  since  Yann  would  have  none  of  her."'^^ 
Gaud  knew  her  face  was  pretty ; but  she  had  no 
idea  of  the  beauty  of  her  figure.  But  then,  in 
this  part  of  Brittany,  among  the  daughters  of 


56 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


these  Iceland  fishermen,  this  beauty  is  almost  a 
mark  of  race. 

It  is  hardly  noticed,  and  even  the  worst  of 
them  have  a modesty  about  letting  it  be  seen, 
instead  of  making  a show  of  it.  No ; it  is  the 
modem  civilization  of  cities  which  attaches  im- 
portance to  such  things  as  subjects  for  the  sculp- 
tor or  the  painter. 

Gaud  began  to  undo  the  little  coils  of  hair  which 
were  rolled  up  over  her  ears,  and  the  braids  fell 
over  her  shoulders  like  two  heavy  serpents. 

She  did  them  up  in  a crown  on  the  top  of  her 
head,  to  be  more  comfortable  while  she  slept, 
and  then  with  her  straight  profile  she  looked 
like  a Roman  virgin. 

Still  she  stood  with  her  arms  uplifted,  her 
fingers  busy  with  her  blond  tresses,  and  still  bit- 
ing her  lips  like  a child  playing  with  a toy  while 
he  thinks  of  something  else ; then,  letting  the  long 
braids  fall  again,  she  began  quickly  to  undo  them, 
unbraiding  them  and  spreading  them  out  to  amuse 
herself  until  they  covered  her  to  her  knees,  and 
then  she  looked  like  some  fair  Dmidess  of  th4 
forest.  And  at  last  as  she  began  to  get  sleepy 
in  spite  of  all  her  love  and  longing  to  cry,  she 
suddenly  threw  herself  into  her  bed,  hiding  her 
. head  in  the  soft  masses  of  her  hair,  which  cov- 
j — her  like  a veil. 


r 


In  her  cottage  at  Ploubazlanec  Grandmother 
Moan — she  who  was  going  down  the  darker. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  57 

downhill  side  of  life  — had  also  finally  fallen 
asleep,  that  cheerless  sleep  of  the  aged,  while 
thinking  of  her  grandson  and  of  death. 

At  the  same  hour,  on  board  the  Marie,’'  in 
the  northern  sea,  which  was  very  rough  that 
evening,  Yann  and  Sylvestre  — those  two  so 
missed  at  home  — were  fishing  away  gayly  and 
singing  songs  by  the  continual  light  of  the  end- 
less day. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

About  a month  later,  in  June. 

Off  Iceland  it  was  that  rare  kind  of  weather 
which  sailors  call  a white  calm.”  The  air  was  j 
perfectly  motionless,  as  if  all  the  tired  breezes  L 
had  vanished  away.  ^ 

The  heavens  were  covered  with  a great  whitish 
veil,  darkening  a little  at  its  lower  edge  near  the 
horizon  into  a kind  of  leaden  gray,  — the  color  of 
dull  tin.  And  underneath,  the  motionless  waters 
glittered  with  a pale  light,  which  fatigued  the  eyes 
and  made  one  shiverV;  the  sea  looked  like  watered  ' 
silk,  with  constantly  changing  ripples  playing  over 
its  smooth  surface,  little  delicate  flaws  like  a 
breath  on  a mirror,  and  the  whole  glittering  ex- 
panse of  waters  seemed  covered  with  a network 
of  indefinite  designs,  interlacing  and  effacing  each 
other,  quickly  coming  and  quickly  gone. 

It  was  impossible  to  say  whether  it  was  eternal 


58 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


evening  or  eternal  dawn.  A sun  which  no  longer 
told  the  hour  rested  ever  over  the  horizon  as  if 
presiding  over  the  glittering,  lifeless  world;  it 
seemed  itself  hardly  more  than  a formless  disk, 
immeasurably  enlarged  by  the  wavering  halo 
which  surrounded  it. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre,  as  they  fished  on  beside 
each  other,  were  singing  ^‘Jean  Francois  de 
Nantes,”  — a song  v/ithout  an  end,  — enjoying  its 
very  monotony,  looking  at  each  other  out  of  the 
corners  of  their  eyes,  and  laughing  at  the  child- 
ish fun  they  were  getting  out  of  repeating  forever 
these  same  couplets,  and  trying  to  sing  them  with 
a different  expression  each  time.  Their  cheeks 
were  ruddy  with  the  salt  freshness  of  the  air  they 
were  breathing,  which  was  pure  and  vivifying ; and 
they  filled  their  lungs  full  of  it,  as  though  from 
the  fountain-head  of  life  and  vigor. 

And  yet  all  around  them  there  was  not  a sign 
of  life,  but  the  semblance  of  a world  that  was 
dead,  or  of  one  not  yet  created ; the  light  was 
without  warmth,  and  everything  seemed  immova- 
ble, as  if  frozen  stiff  forever  under  the  gaze  of  that 
great  spectral  eye,  — the  sun. 

The  Marie  ” cast  a long  reflection  over  the 
surface  of  the  sea,  like  an  evening  shadow  which 
looked  green  on  the  white  and  polished  mirror  in 
which  was  reflected  the  glaring  light  of  the  sky. 
And  in  all  that  part  which  was  covered  by  the 
shadow  could  be  seen  everything  that  was  going 
on  underneath,  on  account  of  the  clearness  of  the 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


59 


water.  Innumerable  fishes,  thousands  on  thou- 
sands all  alike,  were  gliding  quietly  along  in  the 
same  direction,  as  if  they  all  had  the  same  pur- 
pose in  their  never-ending  journey.  These  were 
the  cod,  which  were  performing  their  evolutions 
together,  stretching  along  in  the  same  direction  in 
strictly  parallel  lines,  — like  gray  clefts  in  the 
water,  — and  trembling  constantly  with  a rapid 
movement  which  gave  a look  of  fluidity  to  the 
mass  of  silent  life.  Sometimes,  with  a quick  flip 
of  their  tails,  they  would  all  turn  over  at  once, 
showing  the  glittering  silver  scales  underneath; 
and  with  the  same  flip  of  the  tail,  they  would 
all  turn  back  again,  communicating  this  motion 
through  the  entire  school  with  slow  undulations, 
as  if  thousands  of  metallic  blades  had  flashed  for 
a moment  in  the  sunlight  between  two  waves. 

The  sun,  already  low  in  the  sky,  sank  still 
lower ; surely  it  must  be  evening.  The  lower  it 
descended  into  the  leaden  banks  of  cloud  which 
hung  over  the  sea,  the  more  yellow  it  became,  and 
its  shape  grew  more  clear  and  defined,  while  one 
could  bear  to  look  at  it,  like  the  moon.  It  still 
shone ; but  you  would  have  said  that  it  was  not 
so  very  far  away,  and  that  if  you  went  in  a boat 
only  to  the  edge  of  the  horizon,  you  would  run  up 
against  this  great  melancholy  balloon  floating  about 
in  the  air,  two  or  three  yards  above  the  waters. 

The  fishing  went  on  fast  enough ; looking  into 
the  still  water  you  could  see  very  clearly  how  it 
was  done : the  cod  swam  up  and  took  the  bait 


6o 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


with  a hungry  snap,  and  then  shook  themselves  a 
little,  feeling  the  prick  of  the  hook,  only  fastening 
it  in  more  firmly,  and  then  every  few  minutes  the 
fishermen  pulled  in  their  lines,  hand  over  hand, 
throwing  over  the  fish  to  the  man  who  split  and 
flattened  them. 

The  little  fleet  of  Paimpol  fishing-boats  was 
scattered  over  this  tranquil  mirror,  enlivening  the 
deserted  waters.  Here  and  there  their  small 
sails  appeared  in  the  distance,  set  as  a matter  of 
form,  — for  there  was  not  a breath  stirring,  — and 
standing  out  white  and  clear  against  the  gray 
line  of  the  horizon.  To-day  it  seemed  a very 
quiet  and  easy  business,  — this  Iceland  fishing, 
only  fit  for  girls. 

Fran9ois  de  Nantes  ! 

Jean  Fran9ois  ! 

Jean  Fran9ois  1 

they  sang,  — the  two  big  children. 

Yann  was  not  in  the  least  conscious  on  account 
of  his  fine  figure  and  his  good  looks ; but  he  was 
never  a child  except  with  Sylvestre,  and  sang  and 
joked  with  him  alone.  He  was  very  reserved 
with  others,  and  rather  inclined  to  be  serious  and 
haughty,  — very  pleasant  always,  however,  when 
anything  was  wanted  of  him,  and  always  good 
and  obliging  as  long  as  they  did  not  annoy  him. 

While  they  were  singing  this  song,  the  two 
others,  a few  yards  away,  were  singing  something 
else,  — some  other  medley  of  drowsiness,  good 
health,  and  vague  melancholy. 


A?/  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


6i 


They  were  busy  and  content,  and  the  hours 
went  quickly  by. 

Down  below  in  the  cabin  a little  fire  smouldered 
away  at  the  bottom  of  the  iron  stove,  and  the 
hatchway  was  closed  to  make  it  seem  like  night 
for  those  who  wanted  to  sleep.  They  needed 
very  little  air  while  they  slept;  men  much  less 
robust  and  brought  up  in  cities  would  have  re- 
quired more.  But  when  the  lungs  are  expanded 
all  day  long  with  the  air  of  this  same  limitless 
space,  they  too  rest,  as  it  were,  and  scarcely  need 
to  respire  at  all ; so  one  can  coil  one’s  self  up  in 
no  matter  how  small  a place,  like  an  animal.  ' 

The  crew  went  to  bed  after  their  watch  at  odd 
times,  just  as  the  fancy  took  them,  and  their 
slumber  was  always  healthy,  quiet,  and  dreamless, 
and  one  in  which  they  found  complete  repose. 

"Jean  Fran9ois  de  Nantes! 

Jean  Fran9ois  I 
Jean  Fran9ois  1 ’’ 

Just  now  they  were  looking  at  something 
barely  distinguishable  at  the  edge  of  the  gray 
horizon,  — a light  smoke  rising  from  the  waters, 
like  a microscopic  spiral  of  another  tone  of  gray, 
a little  darker  than  that  of  the  sky.  They  had 
noticed  it  immediately,  with  eyes  long  accustomed 
to  look  into  the  distance. 

‘‘A  steamer  off  there  ! ” 

I think,”  said  the  captain,  looking  more  care- 
fully, that  she  is  a government  ship,  a cruiser  on 
her  way  home.” 


62 


AiY  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


This  light  smoke  was  bringing  news  from 
France,  and  letters,  among  which  was  one  from 
a certain  old  grandmother,  written  by  the  hand 
of  a beautiful  young  girl. 

The  steamer  came  up  slowly;  but  soon  they 
could  distinguish  her  black  hull.  It  was  in  fact 
a cruiser  which  had  just  completed  a trip  among 
the  western  fiords. 

At  the  same  time  a slight  breeze  sprung  up, 
sharp  and  keen,  and  began  to  roughen  in  places 
the  surface  of  the  lifeless  water.  It  drew  upon 
the  shining  mirror  figures  in  greenish  blue,  which 
lengthened  out  into  rays,  or  spread  out  into  fans, 
or  multiplied  into  branches  like  seaweed. 

It  came  up  very  rapidly,  with  a rustling  sound 
like  a signal  of  awakening,  as  if  foretelling  the 
end  of  the  great  calm.  And  the  sky,  freed  from 
its  veil,  cleared  off ; and  the  clouds  gathering  over 
the  horizon  were  piled  up  in  fleecy  gray  banks, 
forming,  as  it  were,  a misty  rampart  around  the 
sea. 

The  two  interminable  ice  floes,  one  above  and 
one  below,  between  which  the  fishing  fleet  was 
lying,  regained  their  deep  transparency,  as  if  the 
cloudy  mistiness  which  had  dimmed  them  had 
been  wiped  ay^ay.  The  weather  changed,  indeed, 
but  in  a rapid  way  which  boded  no  good. 

From  all  points  of  the  compass  gathered  the 
French  fishing-boats  which  were  cruising  in  those 
altitudes,  — from  Brittany,  Normandy,  Boulogne, 
or  Dunkirk. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


63 


Like  birds  who  come  at  a call,  they  flocked 
after  the  cruiser;  they  seemed  to  emerge  from 
the  empty  line  of  the  horizon,  and  appearing  in 
every  direction  with  their  little  grayish  white  sails, 
made  the  great  pale  desert  of  waters  seem  quite 
alive. 

No  longer  slowly  drifting  along,  they  had  set 
their  sails  to  the  new  fresh  breeze,  and  came  up 
at  full  speed.  e - 

The  coast  of  Iceland  itself,  although  quite  far 
away,  loomed  as  if  it  too  wished  to  come 
and  join  the  company.  It  stood  out  more  and 
more  clearly,  with  its  great  mountains  of  naked 
rock,  of  which  it  allows  only  one  side  at  a time 
to  be  seen,  and  even  that  with  apparent  reluc- 
tance. It  seemed  to  lengthen  out  into  another 
Iceland  of  a like  color  with  itself,  which  little  by 
little  grew  clearer  and  clearer ; but  it  was  only  a 
visionary  island,  whose  most  gigantic  mountains 
'‘were  "nothing  but  condensed  masses  of  cloud. 
And  the  sun,  ever  dragging  low  along  the  hori- 
zon, unable  to  mount  on  high,  showed  through 
this  phantom  island  in  such  a way  that  it  gave 
the  strange  illusion  of  being  placed  in  front  of  it. 
Its  halo  was  gone,  and  its  round  disk,  again  very 
sharply  defined,  seemed  almost  like  some  poor 
yellow  planet,  half  dead  and  faltering,  which  had 
stopped  there  in  the  midst  of  chaos. 

The  cruiser,  which  had  now  brought  to,  was 
quite  surrounded  by  the  fleet  of  Iceland  fishing- 


64  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

vessels.  Little  boats  detached  themselves  from 
all  these  ships,  looking  like  walnut-shells  on  the 
ocean ; taking  on  board  rough  men  with  long 
beards,  in  garments  which  looked  uncouth 
enough.  They  all  of  them  had  something  to 
ask  for,  almost  like  children,  — remedies  for 
their  bruises,  articles  to  use  in  repairs,  provi- 
sions, and  letters. 

And  some  of  the  men  were  sent  by  their  cap- 
tains to  be  put  in  irons  to  expiate  some  disobe- 
dience or  mutiny,  and  as  they  had  all  been  in 
government  service,  it  seemed  quite  natural  to 
them. 

And  when  the  quarter-deck  was  encumbered 
by  four  or  five  of  these  great  fellows  stretched 
out  with  the  irons  on  their  ankles,  the  old  mate 
who  had  bound  them  would  say,  Lie  over  there, 
boys,  so  we  can  pass ; which  they  did  obedi- 
ently, with  a smile. 

There  were  a great  many  letters  that  time  for 
the  Icelanders.  Among  others,  two  for  the 

Marie,’*  Captain  Guermeur ; one  for  Monsieur 
Gaos,  Yann;  the  second  for  Monsieur  Moan, 
Sylvestre  (this  had  come  by  Denmark  to  Reikia- 
vik,  where  the  cruiser  had  taken  it  off). 

The  purser  distributed  them  from  his  canvas 
bag,  having  trouble  oftentimes  in  reading  them, 
as  they  were  not  all  written  by  practised  hands.' 

And  the  commander  kept  saying,  Come, 
hurry  up  there  ; the  barometer ’s  falling.” 

He  disliked  to  see  all  those  little  walnut-shells 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  65 

afloat  on  the  sea,  and  so  many  fishermen  together 
in  that  dangerous  region. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  always  read  their  letters 
together.  This  time  it  was  by  the  light  of  a mid- 
night sun,  which  shone  upon  them  from  over  the 
horizon,  still  with  the  same  look  of  a dead  star. 

Seated  side  by  side  at  one  comer  of  the  bridge, 
with  their  arms  around  each  other’s  shoulders,  they 
read  very  slowly;  as  if  to  take  in  more  completely 
the  home  news  which  their  letters  gave  them. 

In  Yann’s  letter  Sylvestre  found  news  of  Marie 
Gaos,  his  little  sweetheart ; in  Sylvestre’s  were 
the  funny  stories  of  old  Grandmother  Moan,  who 
had  not  an  equal  for  writing  amusing  letters  to 
those  away  from  home  \ and  then  there  was  that 
last  line  about  Yann, — 

My  regards  to  young  Gaos.” 

When  they  had  finished  reading  their  letters, 
Sylvestre  timidly  showed  his  to  his  big  friend, 
to  make  him  notice  whose  hand  had  written  it. 

See,  that’s  pretty  writing,  is  n’t  it,  Yann?” 

But  Yann,  who  knew  very  well  what  young 
girl’s  writing  it  was,  turned  away  his  head  and 
shiiigged  his  shoulders,  as  if  he  had  had  enough 
of  this  Gaud. 

Then  Sylvestre  carefully  folded  up  the  poor 
despised  little  letter,  put  it  back  in  its  envelope, 
and  stuck  it  away  under  his  jersey  near  his  heart, 
saying  sadly  to  himself, — 

They  never  in  the  world  will  be  married  ; but 
what  can  he  have  against  her?  ” 

5 


66 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


Midnight  rang  out  by  the  bell  of  the  cruiser, 
and  still  they  remained  sitting  there,  lost  in  a 
dreamy  revery,  thinking  of  home,  and  of  those 
far  away. 

At  this  moment  the  eternal  sun,  which  had 
dipped  his  edge  a little  in  the  waters,  began 
slowly  to  remount  the  skies ; and  it  was  morning. 

\ 


PART  II. 


CHAPTER  1. 


HE  Iceland  sun  had  quite  changed  its 
look  and  color,  and  the  new  day  was 
ushered  in  by  a foreboding  dawn. 
The  sun  had  quite  emerged  from  its 
misty  halo,  and  shone  with  resplendent  rays, 
which  shot  across  the  sky  like  jets  of  flame  herald- 
ing the  coming  storm. 

The  weather  for  several  days  past  had  been 
too  fine  to  last.  The  breeze  whistled  over  this 
concourse  of  fishing-boats  as  if  ordering  them  to 
disperse  and  clear  the  sea ; then  they  began  to 
scatter,  to  flee  away  like  an  army  in  retreat,  and 
before  nothing  but  the  menace  written  in  the  sky 
which  no  one  could  m.istake. 

It  blew  up  stronger  and  stronger,  and  ships 
and  crews  alike  trembled  at  the  coming  storm. 

The  waves,  as  yet  small,  now  began  to  run 
after  one  another  in  groups,  and  were  roughened 
and  seamed  by  long  streaks  of  white  foam  which 


68 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


blew  off  like  smoke  with  a little  seething  sound. 
One  would  almost  have  said  that  the  sea  was  cook- 
ing and  burning ; and  the  shrill  sound  of  it  all 
grew  louder  every  moment. 

The  sailors  thought  no  longer  of  fishing,  but 
only  of  the  safety  of  their  ships.  Their  lines  had 
long  since  been  pulled  in,  and  all  were  hastening 
away,  some  to  seek  shelter  in  the  fiords,  should 
they  arrive  in  time ; others  preferred  to  round 
the  southern  point  of  Iceland,  thinking  it  safer  to 
put  to  sea,  and  to  have  open  space  before  them 
to  drive  before  the  wind.  They  could  still  catch 
glimpses  of  one  another,  as  here  and  there,  in  the 
trough  of  the  seas,  their  sails  could  be  seen  rising 
and  falling,  — poor  little  wet  things  tired  and  flying, 
but  still  holding  themselves  erect  like  children’s 
toys  of  elder  cork,  which  one  blows  over  with  a 
breath,  but  which  always  right  themselves  again. 

The  heavy  mass  of  clouds  which  was  condensed 

over  the  western  horizon  into  the  shape  of  an 
island  now  began  to  unfold,  and  break  up  at  the 
top,  spreading  out  in  tatters  over  the  sky.  It 
seemed  inexhaustible ; the  wind  expanded  it, 
lengthened  it,  and  stretched  it  out,  unwinding 
it  forever  into  dark  curtains  and  spreading  it  over 
the  clear  yellow  sky,  which  had  now  assumed  a 
cold  and  livid  aspect. 

And  still  the  great  breath  which  was  disturbing 
everything  grew  stronger  and  stronger. 

The  cruiser  had  gone  off  to  find  shelter  under 
the  lee  of  Iceland  ; and  the  fishing-boats  were  left 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


69 


alone  on  the  stormy  sea,  which  had  taken  on  a 
threatening  and  ugly  look.  They  hastened  to 
make  all  "‘snug  for  bad  weather,  getting  farther 
and  farther  apart  ; they  would  soon  be  lost  to 
sight.  The  waves,  curling  over  into  scrolls,  con- 
tinued to  chase  one  another,  closing  in  and  be- 
coming higher  and  still  higher,  while  between 
them  the  great  troughs  grew  ever  wider. 

In  two  or  three  hours,  this  region  of  the  sea, 
which  had  been  so  calm  the  evening  before,  had 
become  one  great  effort  and  tumult,  and  instead 
of  the  former  stillness,  there  was  a deafening 
clamor  of  sound.  This  change  which  was  now 
rapidly  taking  place  before  their  eyes,  without 
reason  or  purpose,  why  was  it  ? What  a mystery 
of  blind  destruction  ! The  clouds  had  now  quite 
unfolded  themselves  over  the  sky,  coming  ever 
from  the  west,  piled  up  and  pressed  down  and 
rapidly  obscuring  everything.  Some  yellow  rents 
still  remained,  through  which  the  sun  shot  down 
its  rays.  And  the  water,  now  greenish  in  color, 
became  more  and  more  streaked  with  zigzagging 
lines  of  froth.  By  noon  the  Marie  ” looked  quite 
prepared  for  a storm ; her  hatchways  closed,  and 
her  sails  furled,  she  bounded,  light  and  agile,  over 
the  waves  in  the  midst  of  the  increasing  chaos, 
like  a great  porpoise  for  whom  the  tempests  are  a 
pastime.  With  only  her  mainsail  set,  she  scudded 
before  the  gale,  as  the  sailors’  expression  has  it. 

Overhead  the  sky  had  become  quite  dark,  like 
a closed  dome,  lowering  and  black,  with  some 


70  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

coa!-b!ack  wreaths,  darker  still,  spread  over  its 
lower  surface  like  great  smutches. 

This  dome  of  clouds  seemed  almost  motionless, 
and  one  had  to  look  very  closely  to  discover  that 
it  was  in  full  whirl  of  motion.  Great  gray  sheets 
went  hurrying  past,  continually  replaced  by  others 
coming  from  below  the  horizon,  like  shadowy 
hangings,  unwinding  themselves  forever  as  from 
an  endless  reel. 

j The  “ Marie  ” flew  before  the  storm,  flew  faster 
/ and  faster ; and  the  storm  flew  too  before  some 
j unknown  force,  mysterious  and  terrible.  The 
gale,  the  sea,  the  “ Marie,”  all  were  seized  by  this 
same  madness  of  flight  and  speed  in  the  same 
direction.  Fastest  of  all  hurried  the  wind,  then 
I came  the  great  surges  of  the  swell,  heavier,  slower, 
^ rushing  after,  then  the  “ Marie,”  carried  along  in 
the  universal  movement.  The  waves  pursued  her 
with  their  foaming  crests  which  rolled  after  her  in 
a perpetual  fall,  and  she,  always  overtaken  and 
always  outrun,  still  escaped  them  by  the  clever 
furrow  which  she  left  behind,  in  which  their  fury 
was  exhausted.  And  in  this  flying  pace  what 
they  felt  the  most  was  the  sense  of  lightness,  as  if 
they  were  bounding  over  the  waves  without  trou- 
ble or  effort.  When  the  “ Marie  ” rose  on  the  bil- 
lows, it  was  without  a shock,  and  her  descent  was 
like  a glide,  giving  one  that  sinking  feeling  which 
one  has  going  down  a Russian  slide,  or  in  the 
imaginary  falls  of  a dream.  She  seemed  to  be 
sliding  down  backward,  the  fleeing  mountain 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  7 1 

falling  away  from  under  her,  to  rush  onward ; and 
then  she  plunged  again  into  one  of  those  great 
abysses  which  were  fleeing  too,  but  without  harm, 
for  she  but  touched  its  horrible  depth  in  a splash- 
ing of  water  which  hardly  wet  her,  and  which  fled 
too  like  the  rest,  — which  fled  and  vanished  away 
like  smoke,  into  nothing. 

At  the  bottom  of  these  abysses  it  was  darker 
than  ever ; and  after  each  wave  which  passed  they 
looked  back  to  see  the  next  rising  up  behind 
them  larger  yet,  and  quite  green  and  transparent, 
which  hurried  after  them  with  furious  contortions 
and  crests  ready  to  close  over  them,  as  if  to  say, 
''Wait  till  I catch  you,  till  I swallow  you  up.” 

But  no,  it  only  lifted  them  as  you  would  lift  a 
feather  in  shrugging  your  shoulders,  and  almost 
gently  they  felt  it  pass  under  them  with  its  rushing 
foam  and  its  crash  of  falling  water. 

So  it  went  on,  and  grew  ever  worse  and  worse. 
The  waves  followed  one  another,  more  enormous 
yet,  in  vast  mountain  ranges,  whose  valleys  were 
frightful  to  see. 

And  all  this  mad  movement  grew  faster  and 
faster  under  an  ever- blackening  sky,  in  the  midst 
of  an  ever-increasing  uproar. 

It  was  indeed  very  bad  weather,  and  they  had 
to  be  on  the  alert.  But  as  long  as  they  had  sea 
room  before  them  and  were  able  to  run  before 
the  wind,  all  might  be  well.  And  as  the  " Marie  ” 
that  year  had  spent  the  season  in  the  most  west- 
ern part  of  the  Iceland  fisheries,  all  this  driving 


72 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


toward  the  east  was  so  much  gained  on  their  way 
home. 

Yann  and  Sylvestre  were  at  the  helm  lashed  to 
it  by  the  waist.  They  were  still  singing  the  song 
of  Jean  Frangois  de  Nantes,”  exhilarated  by  the 
rapid  motion,  and  were  shouting  at  the  top  of 
their  voices,  smiling  at  being  able  to  hear  them- 
selves no  longer,  amid  all  this  clamor  which  had 
been  let  loose,  amusing  themselves  by  turning 
their  faces  to  sing  against  the  wind,  and  losing 
their  breath. 

W ell,  boys,  are  n’t  your  mouths  shut  up  there  ? ” 
Guermeur  asked  them,  poking  his  bearded  face 
out  of  the  half-opened  hatchway  like  a jack-in- 
the-box.  Oh,  no,  indeed  ! no  wind  could  shut 
them  up. 

They  were  not  afraid  ; they  knew  just  what  they 
could  stand  and  what  they  could  not,  and  they 
had  faith  in  the  stanchness  of  their  boat  and  in 
their  own  strong  arms,  as  well  as  in  the  protection 
of  that  china  Virgin  which  during  forty  years  of 
joumeyings  to  Iceland  had  so  many  times  danced 
to  that  evil  tune,  always  smiling  from  among  her 
bouquets  of  artificial  flowers. 

“Jean  Frangois  de  Nantes  ! 

Jean  Frangois ! 

Jean  Frangois ! 

Most  of  the  time  they  could  see  but  a very 
little  distance  about  them.  A few  hundred  yards 
away  everything  seemed  to  end  in  those  frightful 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  73 

billows  which  reared  their  white  crests  on  high 
and  shut  them  in. 

They  seemed  always  to  be  in  the  middle  of  an 
enclosed  space,  although  a constantly  changing 
one,  and  then  besides,  everything  was  drowned  in 
a kind  of  smoky  spray  which  blew  in  clouds  with 
the  rapidity  of  lightning  over  the  whole  surface  of 
the  sea. 

But  every  now  and  then  a rift  of  light  would 
appear  toward  the  northwest,  and  a puff  of  wind 
would  rush  down ; and  then  a shivering  light 
would  strike  across  the  sea  from  the  horizon,  and 
a long  wavering  reflection  would  stretch  across  the 
tossing  white  crests,  making  the  sombre  dome  of 
the  sky  seem  darker  still. 

This  rift  of  light  was  a terrible  thing  to  see,  for 
the  glimpse  it  gave  into  the  distances,  into  those 
dim  vistas  of  storm,  increased  still  more  their  fear, 
and  made  them  see  only  too  clearly  that  every- 
where the  same  tumult,  everywhere  the  same  fury 
prevailed,  even  beyond  the  great  empty  line  of 
the  horizon,  — infinitely  afar ; the  great  terror  had 
no  limits,  and  they  were  alone  in  the  midst  of  it. 

A titanic  clamor  sounded  around  and  about 
them  like  the  opening  blast  from  the  trumpet  of 
judgment,  foretelling  the  terror  of  the  end  of  the 
world.  They  made  out  thousands  of  voices ; those 
on  high,  either  shrill  or  deep,  and  seeming  almost 
distant  from  being  so  big,  — this  was  the  gale,  the 
great  soul  of  the  uproar,  the  invisible  power  which 
carried  on  the  whole  thing.  It  was  frightful ; but 


74 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


there  were  other  sounds,  nearer,  more  material, 
and  more  threatening,  rising  from  the  tormented 
water  which  sizzled  as  if  on  live  coals. 

Still  it  grew  and  grew.  And  now  in  spite  of 
their  flying  pace,  the  sea  began  to  cover  them, 
to  eat  them  up,”  as  they  said  : first  the  spray 
whipping  them  from  aft,  then  great  bales  of  water, 
thrown  with  a force  which  might  break  every- 
thing. The  waves  grew  higher  and  still  madly 
higher,  and  yet  more  and  more  ravelled  out ; and 
one  saw  them  hanging  about  in  great  green  tatters, 
which  was  the  falling  water  scattered  by  the  wind. 
It  fell  in  heavy  masses  on  the  deck,  with  a crash 
which  made  the  Marie  ” tremble  all  over  as  if  in 
pain.  Now  they  could  distinguish  nothing  more 
on  account  of  all  this  drift  of  white  froth ; when 
the  gusts  groaned  their  deepest,  they  could  see 
it  whirled  along  in  thicker  clouds,  like  dust  on 
the  roads  in  summer. 

/ A heavy  rain  which  had  come  on  fell  aslant, 
almost  horizontally,  and  all  these  things  hissed 
together,  lashing  and  wounding  like  stripes.  Still 
Yann  and  Sylvestre  both  remained  there,  lashed 
to  the  helm  and  holding  on  tightly,  clad  in  their 
oilskins,  which  were  stiff  and  shiny  like  sharkskins. 
They  had  tied  them  tight  at  the  neck,  wrists,  and 
ankles,  with  bits  of  tarred  rope,  to  keep  out  the 
water,  which  trickled  all  over  them ; and  they 
braced  their  backs  like  buttresses  when  it  came 
down  the  hardest,  so  as  not  to  be  thrown  down. 
The  skin  of  their  cheeks  was  smarting,  and  they 


ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


75 


K 

lost  their  breath  at  every  moment ; and  after  each 
great  sea  had  passed  over  them,  they  looked  at 
each  other  and  smiled  at  the  mass  of  salt  which 
had  collected  on  their  beards. 

But  finally  this  fury  which  would  not  abate,  but 
remained  at  the  same  pitch  of  rage,  became  fear^ 
fully  fatiguing. 

The  anger  of  men  and  of  beasts  is  soon  ex- 
hausted and  appeased ; but  that  of  inanimate  / 
Nature  — causeless,  aimless,  and  mysterious  as 
life  or  death  — must  long  be  endured. 

‘‘Jean  Fran9ois  de  Nantes! 

Jean  Fran9ois  ! 

Jean  Fran9ois  ! 

The  refrain  of  the  old  song  still  fell  from  their 
pale  lips ; but  it  was  a tuneless  sound,  repeated 
almost  mechanically  from  time  to  time. 

The  excess  of  sound  and  motion  had  intoxi- 
cated and  stupefied  them ; and  in  spite  of  their 
youth,  their  smiles  turned  to  grimaces  over  their 
teeth,  which  were  chattering  with  the  cold,  and 
their  eyes,  half  closed  under  their  salty,  burning 
eyelashes,  were  fixed  in  a sort  of  savage  stare. 
Bound  to  the  helm  like  two  pillars  of  marble, 
their  hands  cramped  and  blue,  they  made  the 
necessary  movements  of  the  wheel  almost  uncon- 
sciously, through  the  mere  force  of  habit.  With 
their  dripping  hair  and  their  contracted  mouths, 
they  became  strange  things  to  look  at,  and  the 
savage  which  lurks  at  the  bottom  of  every  man 
appeared  in  them. 


70 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


They  could  see  each  other  no  longer;  they 
simply  knew  they  were  there,  one  beside  the  other. 
At  moments  of  the  most  frightful  danger,  each 
time  there  rose  up  behind  them  a new  mountain 
of  water,  towering,  roaring,  and  horrible,  which 
rushed  against  the  ship  with  a great  dull  crash, 
one  of  their  hands  would  move  involuntarily, 
making  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

They  thought  no  longer  of  anything,  — neither 
of  Gaud,  nor  of  any  other  woman,  nor  of  any 
marriage.  It  had  lasted  too  long  for  them  to  be 
capable  of  thought;  their  intoxication  of  noise, 
fatigue,  and  cold  had  dulled  their  brains.  They 
were  but  two  pillars  of  flesh  clutching  the  helm, 
two  strong  animals  clinging  there  through  the  in^ 
stinct  of  self-preservation.  ) 


CHAPTER  II. 

It  was  in  Brittany ; a cool  day  in  the  latter 
part  of  September. 

Gaud  was  walking  along  all  alone  over  the 
country  of  Ploubazlanec  toward  Pors-Even. 

The  Iceland  boats  had  been  back  for  more 
than  a month,  — except  two  which  had  disap- 
peared in  the  June  storm.  But  the  Marie 
had  held  her  own,  and  Yann  and  all  the  crew 
were  safely  on  shore. 

Gaud  felt  very  much  excited  at  going  to  visit 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


77 


Yann’s  home.  She  had  seen  him  only  once  since 
he  came  back  from  Iceland.  It  was  when  they 
had  all  gone  together  to  see  poor  little  Sylvestre 
off  to  service.’^  They  went  with  him  as  far  as 
to  the  diligence,  when  he,  crying  a little,  and 
his  poor  old  grandmother  a great  deal,  had  fi- 
nally departed  to  report  at  headquarters  at  Brest. 
Yann  had  come  too  to  bid  his  little  friend  good- 
by  ; but  he  pretended  not  to  see  Gaud  when  she 
looked  at  him,  and  as  there  was  a crowd  around 
the  diligence,  — others  drafted  for  the  service 
who  were  going  away,  and  their  relatives  assem- 
bled to  bid  them  good-by,  — there  was  no  op- 
portunity to  speak  to  him. 

Then  finally  Gaud  had  made  a great  resolve, 
and  although  somewhat  afraid,  had  gone  herself 
to  the  Gaos’  house.  Her  father  had  had  at  one 
time  some  business  with  Yann’s  (that  complicated 
sort  of  business  which  among  fishermen  as  well 
as  peasants  is  never  finished),  and  owed  him  a 
hundred  francs’  commission  for  the  sale  of  a 
ship  which  had  just  been  accomplished.  You 
might  let  me  take  the  money.  Father,”  she  said. 

I should  like  to  see  Marie  Gaos,  in  the  first 
place,  and  then  I have  never  been  so  far  in  Plou- 
bazlanec,  and  it  would  amuse  me  to  take  such 
a nice  long  walk.” 

She  was  in  fact  deeply  curious  to  see  this  fam- 
ily of  Yann,  the  house,  and  the  village  where  she 
perhaps  might  go  herself  one  day. 

In  one  of  her  last  conversations  with  Sylvestre 


7S 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


before  he  went  away,  he  had  explained  in  a man- 
ner his  friend’s  rudeness. ' You  see,  Gaud,  it ’s 
because  he  is  like  this,  — he  has  an  idea  that  he 
does  n’t  want  to  marry  any  one.  He  only  loves 
the  sea,  and  one  day,  for  a joke,  he  even  said 
that  he  had  promised  to  marry  her.”  ; 

She  had  forgiven  Y’ann  his  queer  ways ; and 
seeing  always  in  her  memory  that  pleasant  smile 
he  wore  at  the  ball,  she  had  begun  to  hope  again. 
If  she  should  meet  him  there  in  his  own  home, 
she  would  not  say  anything  herself  to  him,  of 
course.  She  had  no  idea  of  being  so  bold  as  that ; 
but  when  he  saw  her  near  to  him  again  perhaps 
he  might  say  something. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

Gaud  walked  briskly  along  for  an  hour,  excited 
and  nervous,  and  breathing  in  the  health-giving 
breeze  from  the  sea.  Here  and  there,  great  crosses 
were  planted  at  the  cross-roads.  Every  now  and 
then  she  passed  little  hamlets  of  seamen’s  huts, 
which  are  beaten  all  the  year  round  by  the  v/ind, 
and  whose  color  is  like  that  of  the  rocks. 

In  one,  where  the  road  narrowed  off  suddenly 
between  dark  wails,  with  high  roofs  of  thatch 
pointed  like  Celtic  huts,  she  saw  a tavern  sign 
which  made  her  smile, — ^‘At  the  Chinese  Cider.’* 

Two  apes  in  pink  and  blue  gowns,  and  with 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


79 


pig-tails,  were  painted  drinking  cider.  A fancy 
of  some  old  salt  who  had  come  back  from  that 
distant  land,  no  doubt.  She  looked  about  at 
everything  as  she  went  by.  When  people  are 
very  much  concerned  about  the  object  of  their 
journey,  they  are  more  than  ever  interested  in 
all  the  thousand  details  of  their  route. 

Gaud  had  now  left  the  little  village  far  behind ; 
and  the  farther  she  advanced  along  this  last  head- 
land of  Brittany,  the  fewer  the  trees  became,  and 
the  more  melancholy  the  country.  4* 

The  ground  was  rocky  and  uneven,  and  from 
all  the  little  elevations  she  could  see  the  ocean. 
There  were  no  trees  at  all  now,  only  the  bare 
heath  with  its  green  furze,  and  here  and  there  the 
divine  crucified  stretching  out  the  great  arms  of 
their  crosses  against  the  sky,  giving  the  whole 
region  the  look  of  a great  place  of  justice. 

At  one  crossing,  which  was  guarded  by  one  of 
these  great  crucifixes,  she  stopped  hesitating  be- 
fore two  roads,  which  disappeared  among  the 
thorny  hills,  when  a little  girl  ran  up  just  in  time 
to  relieve  her  from  her  embarrassment. 

Good-day,  Mademoiselle  Gaud.”  She  was  a 
little  Gaos,  a small  sister  of  Yann.  When  Gaud 
had  kissed  her,  she  asked  her  if  her  father  and 
mother  were  at  home. 

Papa  and  Mamma,  yes,  they  are  at  home,  only 
my  brother  Yann  is  away,”  said  the  little  one, 
quite  innocently ; he  has  gone  to  Loguivy,  but  I 
think  he  will  be  back  before  long.” 


8o  AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

He  was  not  there  ! What  evil  fate  was  it  which 
always  and  everywhere  kept  them  apart?  She 
was  much  inclined  to  put  off  her  visit  till  another 
time.  But  here  was  this  little  girl  who  had  met 
her  on  the  way  and  might  speak  about  it.  What 
would  they  think  of  that  at  Pors-Even?  So 
she  decided  to  go  on,  thinking  how  long  she 
could  possibly  stay  before  she  would  have  to  re- 
turn. 

The  nearer  she  approached  this  village  of 
Yann,  in  this  desolate  spot,  the  more  rough  and 
deserted  everything  appeared.  The  great  sea- 
breeze  which  strengthens  men  makes  the  vegeta- 
tion lower,  more  scanty  and  stunted,  and  flattens 
it  down  into  the  hard  earth.  In  the  path  there 
were  a few  seaweeds  trailing  on  the  ground, 
another  foliage  than  ours,  showing  that  another 
world  was  near,  and  spreading  their  salt  odor  in 
the  air. 

Gaud  met  some  few  passers-by,  — seafaring 
folk,  who  could  be  seen  from  afar  in  this  naked 
country,  standing  out  as  if  magnified  against  the 
distant  high  line  of  the  sea.  Pilots  they  were,  or 
fishermen,  who  had  the  appearance  always  of 
gazing  at  something  in  the  distance,  of  watching 
over  the  sea,  as  they  passed  her  and  bade  her 
good-day. 

Their  faces  were  bronzed,  and  looked  very 
strong  and  manly  under  their  sailor’s  caps.  The 
time  would  not  go  by,  and  really  she  did  not 
know  what  to  do  to  prolong  her  journey.  Peo- 


/^N  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  8 1 

pie  looked  astonished  to  see  her  walking  so 
slowly.  -.What  was  Yann  doing  at  Loguivy  ? 
Making  love  to  the  girls,  perhaps—  Ah,  if 
she  had  only  known  how  little  he  really  cared 
about  girls  of  the  frivolous  kind  ! 

The  '‘fillettes  de  Paimpol,”  as  the  old  Iceland 
song  has  it,  are  much  too  free  and  easy,  and  would 
never  be  severe  to  a handsome  fellow  like  him ; 
but  they  had  but  little  interest  for  him.  He  did 
not  consider  them  worth  even  the  little  trouble  it 
cost  to  make  their  conquest.  -No,  he  had  merely 
gone  to  give  an  order  to  a certain  basket-maker  of 
that  village  who  was  the  only  one  in  the  country 
who  knew  just  the  right  way  to  make  lobster- 
pots.  His  head  was  quite  free  from  any  thought 
of  love  at  that  moment. 

Gaud  arrived  at  a chapel,  which  she  had  seen 
from  a distance  on  a hill.  It  was  a gray  little 
chapel,  very  small  and  very  old.  In  the  midst 
of  the  sterility  around,  there  grew  along  in  the 
shadow  of  the  wall  a little  clump  of  trees,  gray 
too  and  already  leafless,  which  looked  like  its 
hair  thrown  all  to  one  side  as  if  by  some  mighty 
invisible  hand.  And  this  hand  was  the  same 
which  sinks  the  fishermen’s  boats  in  the  sea,  the 
eternal  hand  of  the  west  wind,  which  hides  unseen 
in  the  rush  of  the  waves  and  the  swell,  and  the 
twisted  branches  on  the  shore.  They  had  grown 
gnarled  and  twisted,  these  old  trees,  and  their 
backs  were  bent  under  the  incessant  pressure  of 
this  mighty  hand. 


6 


82  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

Gaud  found  herself  nearly  at  the  end  of  her 
journey,  since  this  was  the  chapel  of  Pors-Even, 
and  she  stopped  here  to  gain  a little  more  time. 

A low  wall  half  sunken  in  the  ground  marked 
out  an  enclosure  which  contained  a number  of 
crosses.  Everything  was  of  one  color,  — the 
chapel,  the  trees,  and  the  tombstones ; the  whole 
place  seemed  stained  and  crumbling  away  under 
the  action  of  the  sea  and  the  wind.  The  same 
grayish  lichens,  with  spots  of  sulphurous  yellow, 
covered  the  tombstones,  the  knotty  branches,  and 
the  statues  of  saints  in  granite  which  stood  in 
the  niches  of  the  wall. 

On  one  of  the  wooden  crosses  a name  was 
painted  in  large  letters:  Gaos,  — Gaos,  Joel, 
aged  eighty  years. 

Ah,  yes,  to  be  sure,  the  grandfather ; she 
knew  that.  The  sea  would  have  none  of  that  old 
mariner.  And  then  of  course  a number  of 
Yann’s  relatives  would  naturally  be  buried  here, 
and  she  should  have  expected  it ; nevertheless, 
that  name  read  thus  on  this  tombstone  made  a 
painful  impression  upon  her. 

In  order  to  pass  away  a few  moments  more, 
she  went  in  under  the  ancient  little  porch  (which 
was  worn  with  age  and  roughly  plastered  and 
whitewashed)  to  say  a prayer.  But  there  she 
stopped  again  with  a still  greater  sinking  of 
the  heart. 

Gaos,’’  — again  that  name,  engraved  on  one 
of  those  tablets  which  are  put  up  in  memory  of 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  83 

those  who  have  been  lost  at  sea.  She  began  to 
read  the  inscription. 

To  the  memory  of 
Gaos,  Jean  Louis, 

aged  24  years,  sailor  on  board  the  ‘‘Marguerite,’’ 
which  was  lost  near  Iceland,  3 Aug.,  1877. 

May  he  rest  in  peace  ! 

Iceland,  — always  Iceland  ! everywhere  around 
in  the  entrance  to  the  chapel  were  fastened  other 
wooden  tablets,  bearing  the  names  of  dead 
sailors.  It  was  the  corner  of  the  Pors-Even 
sailors  who  had  been  lost  at  sea,  and  she  v/as 
sorry  she  had  come  there,  and  felt  oppressed 
with  a gloomy  presentiment.  She  had  seen 
many  such  inscriptions  in  the  church  at  Paimpol, 
but  here  in  this  village,  the  empty  tomb  of  the 
fishermen  seemed  smaller,  and  somehow,  more 
lonely,  more  desolate  and  decayed.  On  each  side 
of  the  porch  was  a granite  bench  for  widows  and 
mothers ; and  the  low  irregular  grotto-like  place 
was  guarded  by  a very  good-natured  old  Virgin, 
freshly  painted  in  red,  with  great  wicked  eyes,  who 
looked  like  Cybele,  the  first  goddess  of  the  earth. 

Gaos,  again  ! 

In  memory  of 
Gaos,  Francois, 
husband  of  Anne-Marie-Le  Goaster, 

Captain  of  the  “ Pampolais,” 
which  was  lost  near  Iceland  between 
the  ist-3d  April,  1877, 
with  her  whole  crew  of  twenty-three  men. 

May  they  rest  in  peace  ! , 


84 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


And  below  were  two  more  crossbones,  under 
a black  skull  with  green  eyes,  — a rude  mortuary 
design,  expressing  the  barbarity  of  a former  age. 

^Gaos  1 everywhere  that  name  ! Another  Gaos, 
called  Ives,  swept  off  his  ship  and  lost  near  the 
northern  fiord,  aged  2 2 years.  This  tablet  seemed 
to  have  been  there  for  many  a year ; he  was  prob- 
ably quite  forgotten  by  this  time. 

As  she  read  it,  an  excess  of  almost  despairing 
tenderness  for  Yann  filled  her  heart.  Never,  no 
never,  would  he  belong  to  her.  Why  dispute 
for  him  with  the  sea,  which  had  devoured  so 
many  others  of  his  name,  ancestors  and  brothers 
who  were  probably  just  like  him? 

^ Gaud  went  into  the  chapel,  where  it  was  already 
nearly  dark,  dimly  lighted  as  it  was  by  the  low 
windows  in  the  thick  walls. 

And  then  her  heart  filled  with  unshed  tears; 
she  knelt  to  pray  before  the  saints  and  virgins, 
enormous  in  size  and  wreathed  in  nide  flowers, 
whose  heads  nearly  touched  the  vaulted  roof. 
Outside,  the  wind,  which  was  rising,  began  to  sob 
and  sigh  as  if  bringing  back  to  the  land  of  Brit- 
tany the  wail  of  these  lost  fishermen.  The  even- 
ing was  coming  on ; she  would  have  to  make  up 
her  mind  to  pay  her  visit  and  execute  her  com- 
mission. She  started  on  her  way  again,  and  after 
having  inquired  in  the  village,  she  found  the  Gaos^ 
house,  which  was  built  up  against  a high  cliff,  a 
flight  of  a dozen  granite  steps  leading  up  to  it. 
Trembling  slightly  at  the  idea  that  Yann  might 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  85 

have  returned,  she  crossed  the  little  garden  where 
chrysanthemums  and  speedwells  were  growing; 
as  she  went  in  she  said  that  she  had  brought  the 
money  for  the  sale  of  the  ship,  and  they  offered 
her  a seat  very  politely,  asking  her  to  wait  until 
the  return  of  their  father,  who  would  then  make 
out  a receipt  for  it.  She  looked  for  Yann  among 
all  those  who  were  there,  but  did  not  see  him. 

They  were  very  busy  indoors ; on  a large 
white  table  lay  cut  out  in  new  cotton  those  coats 
called  oilskins,”  which  they  were  getting  ready 
for  the  coming  season  in  Iceland. 

You  see.  Mademoiselle  Gaud,  each  man  must 
have  two  complete  changes  when  he ’s  out  there.” 
Then  they  explained  to  her  how  they  painted 
and  oiled  them  afterward,  — these  bad-weather 
clothes. 

While  they  were  giving  her  all  the  little  details, 
her  eyes  wandered  curiously  about  the  room.  It 
was  arranged  in  the  traditional  fashion  of  the  Bre- 
ton cottages ; an  enormous  chimney  occupied  one 
end,  and  beds  in  wooden  presses  were  built  along 
the  sides.  But  it  was  not  dark  or  gloomy  like  the 
huts  of  laborers,  which  are  always  half  sunken  in 
the  ground  by  the  wayside.  It  was  light  and 
cheerful,  as  the  cottages  of  seafaring  men  usually 
are.  Several  little  Gaoses  were  there,  — boys  and 
girls,  all  Yann’s  brothers  and  sisters,  without  count- 
ing 'two  grown-up  ones  who  were  away  at  sea ; 
and  then  one  very  little  blond  girl,  sad-looking 
and  neat,  who  did  not  look  like  the  others. 


86 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


One  we  adopted  last  year,”  the  mother  ex- 
plained. ‘‘  We  already  had  enough,  to  be  sure ; 
but  what  could  we  do,  Mademoiselle  Gaud?  Her 
father  was  on  the  ^ Marie-Dieu-t’aime,’  which  was 
lost  off  Iceland  last  season,  as  you  know ; then  we 
neighbors  divided  the  five  children  who  were  left 
among  us,  and  she  is  the  one  who  fell  to  our 
share.” 

Hearing  that  they  were  talking  about  her,  the 
little  adopted  child  hung  her  head  and  smilingly 
hid  herself  behind  little  Laumec  Gaos,  who  was 
her  favorite. 

There  was  an  air  of  comfort  about  the  whole 
house,  and  the  fresh  look  of  perfect  health  in  the 
rosy  cheeks  of  the  children. 

They  treated  Gaud  with  great  distinction,  as 
was  becoming  a pretty  young  lady  whose  visit  was 
an  honor  to  the  family. 

They  took  her  up  by  a stairway  of  white  wood, 
which  was  quite  new,  into  that  upper  room  which 
was  the  glory  of  the  house.  She  remembered 
well  the  history  of  the  building  of  this  upper 
story;  it  all  came  from  the  salvage  of  an  aban- 
doned wreck  which  Father  Gaos  and  his  cousin  the 
pilot  had  found  in  the  Channel.  Yann  had  told 
her  all  about  it  the  night  of  the  ball.  This  room 
which  the  wreck  had  paid  for  was  very  pretty 
and  cheerful  in  its  coat  of  fresh  white  paint. 
There  were  two  beds  in  it  arranged  in  city  fashion, 
with  curtains  of  pink  chintz  and  a large  table  in 
the  middle  of  the  room.  From  the  window  there 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  87 

was  a view  over  the  whole  of  Paimpol,  and  all  the 
roadstead,  with  the  Iceland  fishing-boats  drawn 
up  at  anchor,  and  the  Channel,  through  which 
they  put  out  to  sea. 

She  did  not  dare  to  ask,  but  she  would  have  so 
much  liked  to  know  where  Yann  slept ; probably 
when  he  was  a child  he  must  have  occupied  one 
of  those  old  beds  in  the  presses  downstairs.  But 
now  perhaps  it  was  here  under  these  pretty  pink 
curtains.  She  would  have  so  liked  to  know  all 
about  each  little  detail  of  his  life,  and  what  he  did 
during  the  long  winter  evenings. 

A rather  heavy  step  on  the  stairway  made  her 
tremble.  No,  it  was  not  Yann,  but  a man  who 
was  very  much  like  him  in  spite  of  his  white  hair, 
and  almost  as  tall  and  as  straight  as  he,  — Father 
Gaos  coming  home  from  fishing. 

After  he  had  greeted  her,  and  found  out  the 
object  of  her  visit,  he  made  out  the  receipt, 
which  was  a somewhat  lengthy  operation ; for  his 
hand,  he  said,  was  no  longer  very  steady.  How- 
ever, he  did  not  accept  the  hundred  francs  as  a 
definite  payment,  as  a full  discharge  of  his  dues  for 
the  sale  of  the  ship.  . No,  it  was  only  on  account ; 
he  would  talk  with  M.  Mevel  again  about  it.  At 
this.  Gaud,  who  cared  little  about  money,  smiled 
a scarcely  perceptible  smile.  So  much  the  bet- 
ter,” she  thought;  ‘‘this  is  not  the  end  of  it, 
then.”  She  never  supposed  it  would  be ; and  it 
was  sure  to  make  more  business  with  the  Gaos 
household,  which  would  have  to  be  arranged. 


88 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


They  almost  made  excuses  for  Yann's  absence, 
as  if  it  would  have  been  more  polite  if  all  the 
family  had  been  there  to  receive  her.  The  father 
had  perhaps  suspected,  with  the  sagacity  of  an 
old  mariner,  that  his  son  was  not  entirely  indiffer- 
ent to  the  pretty  heiress,  for  he  brought  the  con- 
versation back  to  him  quite  pointedly. 

It ’s  very  strange,”  he  said  ; he  hardly  ever 
stays  out  so  late.  He  has  gone  to  Loguivy,  Ma- 
demoiselle Gaud,  to  buy  lobster-pots.  You  know 
lobsters  are  what  we  catch  mostly  in  winter-time.” 

And  she,  absent  and  distracted,  prolonged  her 
visit,  although  she  felt  she  was  staying  too  long ; 
while  her  heart  sank  more  and  more  at  the  thought 
that  she  really  was  not  going  to  see  him. 

A good  boy  like  him  ! What  on  earth  can  he 
be  doing?  He  is  not  at  a tavern,  that’s  sure. 
We  have  never  had  that  to  fear  with  our  son.  We 
don’t  say  but  that  once  in  a while,  on  a Sunday 
with  his  friends  — but  then  you  know  what  sailors 
are.  Mademoiselle  Gaud  ; and  then,  dear  me,  when 
one  is  young,  there  is  no  use  depriving  one’s  self 
of  everything.  But  it  is  a very  rare  thing  with 
him  ; he  is  a right  good  fellow,  we  can  assure  you.” 

But  still  the  night  was  coming  on.  They  had 
folded  up  the  oilskins  and  stopped  work.  The 
little  Gaos  and  the  little  adopted  child  were  sit- 
ting close  together  on  the  benches,  somewhat 
subdued  by  the  gray  twilight  hour,  and  looking 
wonderingly  at  Gaud,  as  much  as  to  say,  '^And 
now  why  doesn’t  she  go  home?”  And  in  the 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  89 

chimney  the  fire  began  to  burn  up  red  in  the  twi- 
light. You  must  stay  and  take  supper  with 
us,  Mademoiselle  Gaud.’’  Oh,  no,  she  could 
not.  The  blood  mounted  into  her  cheeks  at  the 
thought  that  she  had  stayed  so  long,  and  she  rose 
and  took  her  leave. 

Father  Gaos  rose  also  to  accompany  her  part 
of  the  way  home,  as  far  as  a certain  lonely  hollow, 
where  the  old  trees  made  the  path  very  dark. 

While  they  were  walking  so,  side  by  side.  Gaud 
felt  a great  respect  and  tenderness  for  him  rise 
in  her  heart,  and  an  impulse  came  to  her  to  speak 
to  him  of  her  trouble  as  she  would  to  a father ; 
but  the  words  stuck  in  her  throat,  and  she  could 
say  nothing. 

They  were  walking  along  in  the  cool  evening  • 
breeze,  which  smelt  of  the  sea,  passing  here  and 
there,  scattered  over  the  land,  little  cottages  al- 
ready shut  up  for  the  night,  looking  very  gloomy 
under  their  low  roofs,  these  poor  nests  to  shelter 
fishermen ; and  they  also  passed  crosses  placed 
here  and  there  among  the  furze  and  the  rocks. 
Flow  far  away  Pors-Even  was,  and  how  late  it 
had  grown  ! 

Once  in  a while  they  passed  people  coming 
back  from  Paimpol  or  Loguivy.  As  Gaud  saw 
these  human  silhouettes  approaching,  she  thought 
each  time  that  it  was  Yann ; but  it  was  easy  to 
recognize  him,  and  she  was  quickly  undeceived. 
Her  feet  tripped  in  the  trailing  brown  plants 
growing  along  the  ground,  which  was  the  seaweed 


90  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

matted  like  hair,  hi  the  cross  of  Plouezoc’h  she 
bade  the  old  man  good-by,  and  begged  him  to 
return. 

She  could  already  see  the  lights  of  Paimpol, 
and  there  was  no  longer  any  need  to  be  afraid. 
So  it  was  all  over  for  this  time ; and  now  who 
knew  when  she  should  see  Yann  ag*ain? 

She  could  find  plenty, of  excuses  to  go  to  Pors- 
Even ; but  that  would  hardly  do.  It  certainly 
would  not  look  well  for  her  to  go  there  again. 
She  could  never  be  as  bold"  as  that.  If  only  her 
little  confidant  Sylvestfe  were  still  here,  she  might, 
have  sent  him  to  find  Yann,  and  to  get  him  to 
explain  himself.  But  he  was  gone,  and  no  one 
knew  for  how  Jong. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

^‘Get  married?’’  said  Yann  to  his  parents 
that  evening.  Dear  me  ! what  for?  Am  I not 
happy  enough  here  with  you  all?  No  bother, 
no  quarrels,  with  anybody,  and  good  hot  soup 
every  evening  when  I get  home  from  fishing.  Oh, 
yes  ! I know  all  about  who  has  been  here  in  the 
house  to-day.  In  the  first  place,  I don’t  see  why 
so  rich  a girl  can  vmit  to  have  anything  to  do 
with  poor  people  like  us.  And  then  I have  made 
up  my  mind  not  to  marry  her  or  anybody  else ; 
it ’s  not  my  idea.” 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  9 1 

The  two  old  people  looked  at  each  other  in 
silence,  deeply  disappointed  ; for  they  had  talked 
it  over  together,  and  had  decided  that  this  young 
girl  would  not  refuse  their  handsome  Yann.  But' 
they  did  not  attempt  to  urge  it,  knowing  that  it 
would  be  quite  useless.  His  mother  especially 
hung  her  head  and  said  nothing  at  all.  She  al- 
ways regarded  the  wishes  of  her  eldest  son,  who 
had  almost  the  position  of  head  of  the  family. 
Although  he  v/as  always  very  gentle  and  kind  to 
her,  and  more  submissive  than  a child  in  the  small 
affairs  of  life,  he  had  long  been  his  own  master 
in  large  matters,  and  replied  to  all  efforts  at  com- 
pulsion with  a quietty  indomitable  independence. 

He  never  stayed  up  late,  having  the  habit  of 
all  fishermen  of  rising  before  daybreak.  So  after 
supper,  about  eight  o’clock,  having  cast  a last 
look  of  satisfaction  at  his  lobster-pots  and  his 
new  fishing-nets,  he  began  to  undress  with  a 
mind  apparently  entirely  at  ease.  Then  he  went 
up  to  bed  under  the  pink  curtains,  in  the  room 
which  he  shared  with  his  little  brother  Laumec. 


CHAPTER  V.  . 

For  the  last  fortnight  Gaud’s  little  confidant 
Syivestre  had  been  at  headquarters  in  Brest, — very 
homesick,  but  very  good.  Putting  on  great  airs 
with  his  wide  blue  collar  and  his  red  tufted  cap, 


92  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

he  was  a splendid -looking  sailor,  with  his  rolling 
gait  and  his  tall  figure ; but  in  his  heart  he  was 
mourning  for  his  good  old  grandmother,  and  was 
’the  same  innocent  child  as  of  yore.  Once  only 
he  went  on  a spree,  and  that  was  with  his  own 
town’s  people,  because  it  was  the  custom ; and 
they  all  came  rolling  home  together  arm  in  arm 
to  the  barracks,  singing  at  the  top  of  their 
voices. 

One  Sunday,  too,  he  went  to  the  theatre,  in  the 
top  gallery.  They  were  playing  one  of  those 
great  nautical  dramas  where  the  sailors,  enraged 
with  the  traitor,  greet  him  with  a hou^  which 
they  all  give  together,  and  which  makes  a deep 
sound  like  the  west  wind.  He  found  it  very 
w^arm,  as  there  was  little  air  in  the  place,  and 
when  he  tried  to  take  off  his  jacket  he  was  repri- 
manded by  an  officer  of  the  theatre,  and  toward 
the  end  he  fell  asleep. 

As  he  went  back  to  his  barracks  after  midnight, 
he  met  several  women  of  sufficiently  mature  age, 
with  their  hair  very  fashionably  dressed,  who.  were 
strolling  up  and  down  the  sidewalks. 

‘‘See  here,  pretty  boy,”  they  said  with  their 
deep,  harsh  voices. 

He  understood  at  once  what  it  was  they  wanted, 
not  being  quite  as  green  as  one  might  have 
thought. 

But  the  quick  remembrance  of  his  old  grand- 
mother and  Marie  Gaos  made  him  pass  them  by 
very  contemptuously,  looking  down  on  them  from 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  93 

the  height  of  his  youth  and  good  looks  with  a 
glance  of  childish  scorn. 

They  were  very  much  astonished,  these  charm- 
ing fair  ones,  to  find  this  sailor  so  reserved. 

Did  you  ever  see  anybody  like  him  ? Look 
out  for  yourself,  my  boy.  Run  away  quickly; 
we  are  going  to  eat  you  up.’^ 

And  the  sound  of  the  shameful  things  they 
called  after  him  was  lost  in  the  indefinite  rumble 
which  filled  the  streets  on  this  Sunday  night ; and 
he  remained  just  the  same  at  Brest  as  he  had 
been  in  Iceland  on  the  open  sea,  — quite  inno- 
cent and  pure.  But  his  comrades  made  no  fun 
of  him,  because  of  his  strength,  — a quality  which 
always  inspires  respect  among  sailors. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

One  day  Sylvestre  was  called  to  the  office  of  his 
company,  and  informed  that  he  had  been  assigned 
to  service  in  China  with  the  squadron  off  Formosa. 
He  had  felt  for  some  time  that  it  would  turn  out 
so,  and  he  had  heard  people  who  read  the  papers 
say  that  the  war  would  never  finish  out  there. 
As  they  were  to  go  almost  immediately,  they  in- 
formed him  at  the  same  time  that  the  leave  of 
absence  for  good-byes  which  is  usually  given  to 
those  about  to  start  for  the  seat  of  war,  would 


94 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


in  this  case  not  be  granted.  In  five  days  he  would 
have  to  pack  up  and  be  off. 

He  was  much  excited  and  disturbed  at  the 
news.  The  charm  of  the  long  journey,  the  pros- 
pect of  seeing  new  countries,  and  the  thought  of 
war,  mingled  with  the  pain  of  leaving  everytliing 
dear,  and  the  vague  presentiment  that  he  should 
never  return,  almost  confused  him. 

A thousand  thoughts  whirled  in  his  brain. 
There  was  a great  noise  around  him  in  the  hall 
of  the  building  which  was  used  as  headquarters, 
where  a number  of  others  had  also  just  been  told 
of  their  assignment  to  this  Chinese  squadron. 

And  then  he  immediately  set  about  writing  to 
his  poor  old  grandmother  as  quickly  as  he  could, 
with  a pencil,  sitting  on  the  ground  lost  in  trou- 
bled thought  in  the  midst  of  the  coming  and  go- 
ing and  the  noise  of  the  young  men  who  like 
himself  were  also  going  away. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

She  is  a little  ancient,  that  sweetheart  of  his,’’ 
said  Sylvestre’s  comrades,  two  days  after,  laugh- 
ingly, behind  his  back ; but  all  the  same  they 
seem  to  understand  each  other  very  well.” 

It  amused  them  to  see  him  walking  the  streets 
of  Recouvrance  for  the  first  time  like  other  peo- 
ple, with  a woman  on  his  arm,  leaning  over  her 


AJSr  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  95 

and  saying  things  which  were  doubtless  very  sweet 
and  tender. 

She  was  a little  person,  with  a rather  trim  figure, 
— seen  from  behind  ; skirts  a trifle  short  perhaps 
for  the  prevailing  fashion,  a little  brown  shawl,  and 
a great  Paimpol  cap. 

She  hung  on  his  arm,  and  looked  tenderly  into 
his  face. 

She  is  certainly  a bit  old,  his  sweetheart ! 

They  did  not  mean  anything  very  unkind  when 
they  said  it,  for  they  could  see  perfectly  that  she 
was  a good  old  grandmother  from  the  country. 

She  had  arrived  in  haste,  being  seized  with 
fresh  terror  at  the  news  of  her  grandson’s  depart- 
ure for  this  war  in  China,  which  had  already  cost 
the  country  of  Paimpol  so  dear. 

Having  gotten  together  all  her  little  savings, 
and  packed  her  best  Sunday  dress  and  a change 
of  caps  in  a bandbox,  she  had  come  to  Brest  to 
embrace  him  at  least  once  more. 

She  went  straight  to  his  barracks  to  find  him, 
but  the  adjutant  refused  to  let  him  come  out, 
saying,  — 

If  you  want  to  see  him,  my  good  woman,  you 
must  ask  the  captain ; there  he  is  just  going  by.” 

And  ask  the  captain  she  did,  and  happily  he 
let  himself  be  persuaded. 

Send  Moan  to  change  his  clothes,”  he  said. 

And  Moan  flew  upstairs  four  steps  at  a time  to 
put  on  his  dress  uniform ; while  the  good  old 
woman,  seeing  the  fun  of  it  all  as  usual,  made  an 


96 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


indescribable  little  face  at  the  adjutant  behind  his 
back  and  dropped  him  a courtesy. 

Then  when  her  grandson  appeared  in  his  new 
uniform,  with  its  low  sailor’s  collar,  she  was 
amazed  to  find  him  so  handsome.  His  black 
beard  had  been  trimmed  by  a barber  into  a point, 
as  was  the  fashion  that  year  among  sailors ; the 
ruffles  of  his  open  shirt  were  finely  plaited ; and 
his  sailor’s  hat  had  long  floating  ribbons  with  gilt 
anchors  on  the  end. 

For  a moment  she  thought  she  saw  her  son 
Pierre,  who  twenty  years  before  had  also  been  a 
sailor  in  the  fleet ; and  the  remembrance  of  that 
time  so  long  ago,  and  of  all  those  who  were  dead 
and  gone,  cast  its  shadow  over  the  present  hour. 
But  it  was  a sadness  which  soon  disappeared. 
They  walked  out  arm  in  arm,  in  the  happiness  of 
being  together ; and  it  was  then  that  they  play- 
fully thought  of  her  as  his  sweetheart,  and  called 
her  a ^Hittle  old.” 

She  took  him  off  to  dinner  for  a treat  at  an 
inn  much  frequented  by  the  people  of  Paimpol, 
and  which  had  been  recommended  to  them  as 
not  too  dear.  And  afterward,  they  walked  about 
Brest,  still  arm  in  arm,  looking  into  the  shop 
windows.  But  nothing  was  as  amusing  as  the 
funny  things  she  said  herself  to  make  her  grand- 
son laugh,  in  the  Breton  dialect  of  Paimpol,  which 
the  passers-by  could  not  understand. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


97 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

She  stayed  three  days  with  him,  — three  happy 
days,  in  spite  of  the  thought  of  that  gloomy  time 
to  come ; and  they  seemed  almost  like  three  days 
of  grace. 

Then  finally  the  time  came  for  her  to  go,  to 
return  to  Paimpol.  In  the  first  place,  because 
she.  had  come  to  the  end  of  her  poor  little  stock 
of  money ; and  then  Sylvestre  was  to  sail  on  the 
next  day  but  one,  and  sailors  are  inexorably  shut 
up  in  their  quarters  on  the  eve  of  important  ex- 
peditions,— a usage  which  seems  at  first  sight 
a little  harsh,  but  which  is  really  a necessary 
precaution  against  sprees,  on  which  sailors  are 
tempted  to  go  before  starting  off  on  a campaign. 

Oh,  that  last  day  ! No  matter  how  hard  she 
tried,  no  matter  how  she  racked  her  brains  for 
something  new  and  funny  to  say  to  her  grand- 
son, she  could  find  nothing ; no,  only  tears  which 
would  try  to  come,  and  sobs  which  rose  choking 
in  her  throat. 

Hanging  on  his  arm,  she  charged  him  with 
a thousand  things  which  made  him  want  to  cry 
too ; and  they  finally  went  into  a church  to  say 
their  prayers  together. 

It  was  the  evening  train  by  which  she  was  to 
return ; for  economy's  sake  they  walked  to  the 
7 


98 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


station,  he  carrying  her  bandbox  and  supporting 
her  with  his  strong  arm,  on  which  she  leaned 
with  her  whole  weight.  She  was  tired,  so  tired, 
the  poor  old  woman  ! she  was  at  the  end  of 
her  strength,  which  she  had  so  much  overtaxed 
during  the  last  three  or  four  days.  Her  back 
j was  quite  bent  under  her  little  brown  shawl,  as 
\ if  she  no  longer  had  the  strength  to  stand  up 
Straight.  Her  youthful  step  and  carriage  had 
quite  gone,  and  she  felt  the  full  weight  of  her 
sixty  years.  At  the  idea  that  it  was  all  over,  and 
that  in  a few  minutes  she  would  have  to  leave 
him,  the  pain  in  her  heart  was  almost  too  terrible 
to  bear.  And  it  was  to  China  too  that  he  was 
going,  — off  there  to  that  massacre.  She  still  had 
him  there  with  her ; she  still  held  him  with  her 
two  poor  old  hands ; but  nevertheless  he  was 
going,  — not  all  her  will,  nor  all  her  tears,  nor  all 
/ her  despair  could  keep  him. 

Embarrassed  with  her  ticket,  her  basket  of 
provisions,  and  her  mittens,  all  agitated  and 
trembling,  she  gave  him  her  last  charges,  to  which 
he  replied  with  a little  submissive  yes,’^  bending 
his  head  tenderly  over  her,  and  looking  at  her 
with  his  sweet,  honest  eyes,  like  a little  child. 

‘‘Come,  old  lady,  you  must  make  up  your 
mind  whether  you  are  going  or  not.’^ 

The  engine  whistled.  Seized  with  fright  lest 
she  should  miss  the  train,  she  took  her  box  out 
of  his  hands,  let  it  fall  on  the  ground,  and  finally 
hung  it  round  her  neck  in  helpless  confusion. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


99 


People  stared  at  them  a great  deal  in  the  sta- 
tion; but  nobody  felt  like  laughing.  Pushed 
about  by  the  railroad  officials,  exhausted  and 
frightened  to  death,  she  threw  herself  at  last  into 
the  first  compartment  she  came  to,  which  they 
shut  on  her  heels ; while  he,  with  his  light  sailor’s 
step,  took  a little  turn  like  a bird  which  flies 
away,  to  get  round  to  the  crossing  outside  in 
time  to  see  her  go  by. 

A loud  whistle,  a great  noise  of  the  wheels,  and 
his  grandmother  went  by.  Leaning  up  against 
the  gate,  he  waved  his  hat  with  its  long  floating 
ribbons,  with  youthful  grace ; while  she,  leaning 
out  of  the  window  of  her  third-class  carriage, 
waved  her  handkerchief,  the  better  to  be  recog- 
nized. As  long  as  she  was  able,  as  long  as  she 
could  make  out  that  dark-blue  figure  which  was 
still  her  grandson,  she  followed  him  with  her  eyes, 
sending  out  her  whole  soul  to  him  in  that  always 
uncertain  “Au  revoir  1 ” which  one  says  to  de- 
parting sailors. 

Look  well  at  your  little  Sylvestre,  poor  old 
woman ! Follow  well  to  the  last  minute  that 
diminishing  figure  which  vanishes  there  forever 
from  your  sight ! When  she  could  really  see  him  j 
no  longer,  she  fell  back  in  her  seat,  without  a 
thought  of  crushing  her  beautiful  cap,  sobbing 
and  weeping  in  an  agony  of  tears.  And  he  went 
slowly  back,  head  bent  down,  and  the  great  tears  , 
rolling  down  his  cheeks.  ^ 

The  autumn  night  had  come  on ; the  gas  was  - 


lOO  AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

lit  all  along  the  streets ; and  the  sailors'  holiday 
had  begun.  Without  noticing  anything  about 
him,  he  traversed  Brest,  then  crossed  the  bridge 
of  Recouvrance,  and  so  back  to  his  barracks. 

Look  here,  pretty  boy  ! " the  harsh  voices  of 
the  women  were  already  calling,  as  they  began 
their  promenade  up  and  down  the  pavement. 

He  went  in  and  threw  himself  on  his  bed 
and  wept  there  alone,  hardly  sleeping  at  all  until 
morning. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

Sylvestre  was  out  in  the  open  sea,  being  rap- 
idly borne  along  over  unknown  waters  far  bluer 
than  those  of  Iceland. 

The  ship,  which  was  carrying  him  to  the  farth- 
est extreme  of  Asia,  had  orders  to  make  quick 
time  and  to  cut  short  her  stops. 

He  had  already  a sense  of  being  very  far  away, 
on  account  of  this  hurrying  speed,  incessant  and 
unvarying,  which  went  on  just  the  same  almost 
without  regard  for  wind  or  weather.  Being  a 
topman,  he  lived  aloft,  perched  up  like  a bird, 
out  of  the  way  of  the  crowd  of  soldiers  gathered 
together  on  the  deck  beneath. 

They  stopped  twice  off  the  coast  of  Tunis  to 
take  on  more  zouaves  and  some  mules ; and  Syl- 
vestre could  see  in  the  distance  white  cities  lying 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


lOI 


on  the  sandy  plains  or  up  among  the  mountains. 
And  he  even  came  down  from  his  perch  to  have  a 
look  at  those  dark-skinned  men,  draped  in  white 
garments,  who  came  on  board  to  sell  fruit,  who 
the  others  told  him  were  Bedouins. 

The  sun  continued  to  pour  down  with  undimin- 
ished heat  in  spite  of  the  autumn  season,  and  this 
too  gave  him  the  impression  of  being  very,  very 
far  away  from  home. 

One  day  they  arrived  at  a town  called  Port- 
Said,  where  all  the  flags  of  Europe  were  floating 
at  the  top  of  lofty  spars  and  rigging,  making 
it  look  like  Babel  on  a holiday  ; and  the  shining 
sands  surrounded  it  like  a sea.  They  had  dropped 
anchor  at  the  quay,  which  was  situated  almost  in 
the  middle  of  the  town,  among  long  streets  of 
wooden  houses.  Not  since  his  departure  had  the 
outside  world  seemed  so  close  to  him,  and  he  was 
much  amused  by  all  the  bustle  and  the  vast  num- 
ber of  vessels. 

With  a continual  shrieking  of  whistles  and  fog- 
horns, the  ships  all  sailed  off  down  a kind  of 
canal,  no  larger  than  a moat,  which  disappeared 
like  a silver  line  in  the  infinite  distance  of  the 
desert.  From  the  height  of  the  maintop  he  could 
see  them  following  one  another  along  in  a proces- 
sion, being  gradually  lost  to  sight  in  the  distant 
plains. 

Moving  about  the  quays  were  men  in  all  kinds 
of  costumes  and  of  every  possible  color,  shouting 
and  hurrying  about  in  the  rattle  and  roar  of  all 


102  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

that  was  going  on,  and  in  the  evening,  to  the  dia- 
bolical noise  of  the  steam  whistle  was  added  the 
confused  sound  of  several  bands,  playing  noisy 
tunes,  as  if  to  drown  the  poignant  regrets  of  all  the 
many  exiled  from  home  who  were  passing  by. 

The  day  after,  at  sunrise  they  too  sailed  into 
this  narrow  ribbon  of  water  among  the  sands, 
followed  by  a train  of  ships  of  every  country. 
This  promenade  in  single  file  through  the  desert 
lasted  two  days ; then  another  ocean  opened  up 
before  them,  and  they  took  to  the  open  sea  again. 
They  went  at  full  speed  always ; and  this  still 
warmer  ocean  was  scattered  over  with  dissolving 
red  designs,  and  sometimes  the  foam  in  the  wake 
of  the  ship  was  the  color  of  blood.  Sylvestre 
lived  aloft  almost  all  the  time,  and  sang  ‘‘Jean 
Frangois  de  Nantes  quite  low  to  himself,  to  re- 
mind him  of  his  brother  Yann,  of  Iceland,  and  of 
the  good  old  times. 

Sometimes  in  the  depth  of  the  distances,  which 
were  full  of  mirages,  he  would  see  a mountain  of 
an  extraordinary  color  looming  up.  Those  v/ho 
were  in  command  of  the  ship  doubtless  recog- 
nized in  spite  of  distance  and  indistinctness  these 
headlands  which  the  continents  push  out,  like 
eternal  guide-posts  on  the  great  thoroughfares 
of  the  world ; but  a sailor  journeys  along,  car- 
ried about  like  a piece  of  luggage,  knowing  noth- 
ing, paying  little  attention  to  distances  and  meas- 
ures of  space  which  have  no  end  for  him. 

As  for  Sylvestre,  he  was  only  conscious  that  he 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


103 


was . getting  terribly  far  away ; and  he  knew  that 
well  enough  from  looking  down  at  the  wake  of  the 
ship,  which  was  rushing  rapidly  along,  and  count- 
ing how  long  that  speed  which  slackened  neither 
by  night  nor  by  day  had  continued.  The  crowd 
of  men  huddled  below  on  deck  under  the  shadow 
of  their  tents  were  painfully  oppressed  for  breath. 
The  water,  the  air,  the  light,  had  all  taken  on  a 
terrible  overpowering  splendor;  and  this  contin- 
ual glorification  of  inanimate  things  was  a mock' 
ery  to  the  living  beings,  the  organized  existences 
which  are  but  mortal.  Once  from  his  perch  he 
watched  with  much  interest  clouds  of  little  birds 
of  a kind  unknown  to  him,  which  threw  them- 
selves on  the  ship  like  whirlwinds  of  black  dust. 
They  let  themselves  be  caught  and  petted,  being 
too  exhausted  to  resist;  and  all  the  sailors  had 
some  on  their  shoulders. 

But  soon  the  most  exhausted  of  them  began 
to  die.  They  perished  by  thousands  on  the  yards, 
in  the  port-holes,  — the  poor  little  things  ! — 
under  the  fierce  sun  of  the  Red  Sea. 

These  birds  had  come  from  over  the  great 
desert,  driven  by  the  tempest,  and  for  fear  of  fall- 
ing into  the  infinite  blue  which  spread  everywhere 
around,  they  flocked  down,  exhausted,  with  t 
last  strength  of  their  wings,  u 
was  passirtg  Ov 


104  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

Mother  Nature  had  driven  this  excess  of  little 
birds  away  with  a breath,  with  the  same  impas- 
sive indiiderence  with  which  she  treats  a genera- 
tion of  men. 

They  all  perished  on  the  heated  iron-work  of 
the  ship ; and  the  deck  was  heaped  up  with  their 
little  bodies,  which  yesterday  were  throbbing 
with  life  and  love  and  song.  They  looked  like 
little  black  rags,  with  their  wet  feathers ; and  Syl- 
vestre  and  the  other  sailors  gathered  them  up  in 
their  hands,  compassionately  spreading  out  their 
delicate  bluish  wings,  and  then  swept  them  off 
into  the  sea  and  made  an  end  of  them. 

Then  came  swarms  of  grasshoppers,  descend- 
ants of  those  of  the  time  of  Moses ; and  the  ship 
was  covered  with  them. 

Then  they  sailed  on  several  days  more  in  the 
unchanging  blue,  and  saw  no  other  living  thing 
except  a few  fishes  flying  over  the  surface  of  the 
waters. 


CHAPTER  X. 


Rain  in  torrents  under  a perfectly  black  and 
— that  was  India.  Sylvestre  had  just 
h^d  happened  that  he  was 
boat 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  105 

country.  Everything  was  nragnificently  green  ; the 
leaves  of  the  trees  looked  like  gigantic  feathers, 
and  the  people  who  walked  by  had  great  velvet 
eyes  which  seemed  to  droop  under  the  weight  of 
their  lashes ; and  the  breeze  which  blew  the  rain 
about  smelt  of  musk  and  of  roses^" Women  beck- 
oned to  him,  making  signs  which  meant  some- 
thing like  the  ‘^See  here,  pretty  boy  ! ” which  he 
had  heard  so  many  times  in  Brest.  But  here  in 
this  enchanted  land  the  invitation  excited  and 
thrilled  him.  Their  superb  figures  could  be  seen 
outlined  under  their  transparent  muslin  draper- 
ies ; and  their  skins  were  tawny  and  polished  like 
bronze. 

Hesitating  and  yet  fascinated,  he  was  beginning 
nevertheless  to  follow  them  step  by  step,  when  all 
at  once  he  heard  the  pipe  of  the  boatswain’s 
whistle,  trilling  like  a bird,  calling  him  quickly 
back  to  his  boat,  which  was  leaving. 

So  he  went  on  his  way  and  bade  adieu  to  the 
beauties  of  India. 

Still  another  week  on  the  blue  sea,  and  they 
stopped  at  another  land  of  greenness  and  mois- 
ture. A crowd  of  little  yellow  men,  shouting  and 
yelling  like  madmen,  suddenly  invaded  the  ship, 
bringing  coal  in  baskets. 

‘‘Are  we  in  China  already?”  asked  Sylvestre, 
seeing  that  they  all  had  monkey  faces  and  pig- 
tails. 

They  said  “ no  ; ” he  must  wait  a little  longer. 
This  was  only  Singapore.  He  went  up  aloft 


I06  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

again,  to  get  out  of  the  black  dust  which  the 
wind  blew  about,  while  the  coal  from  these  thou- 
sand little  baskets  was  being  hurriedly  thrown 
into  the  bunkers. 

Finally  one  day  they  came  to  a country  called 
Tourane,  where  they  found  at  anchor  a ship 
called  the  ‘‘  Circe,”  which  was  blockading  the  har- 
bor. It  was  the  ship  to  which  he  had  known  he 
should  be  changed ; and  they  put  him  on  board 
with  his  bag. 

He  found  countrymen  among  the  crew,  even 
two  Icelanders,”  who  for  the  time  being  were 
serving  as  gunners. 

In  the  evening,  in  that  warm  and  quiet  climate, 
where  there  is  nothing  whatever  to  do,  they  would 
assemble  on  deck  in  a group  apart,  away  from  the 
others,  making  a little  Brittany  among  themselves. 
He  had  to  pass  five  months  of  idleness  and  exile 
in  this  desolate  bay,  before  the  long- wished- for 
moment  arrived  for  going  into  action. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

Paimpol,  the  last  day  of  February,  and  the 
evening  before  the  departure  of  the  fishermen  for 
Iceland.  Gaud  was  leaning  up  against  the  door 
of  her  room,  motionless  and  very  pale. 

It  was  because  Yann  was  downstairs,  talking 
with  her  father.  She  had  seen  him  come,  and 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  107 

she  could  hear  indistinctly  the  sound  of  his 
voice. 

They  had  not  met  the  whole  winter ; some  fatal- 
ity seemed  always  to  keep  them  apart.  After  her 
journey  to  Pors-Even,  she  had  built  her  hopes  some- 
what on  the  Pardon  ’’  of  the  Icelanders,  whefe^ 
there  are  many  opportunities  to  meet  and  talk, 
in  the  market-place  at  evening  among  the  various 
groups  that  stand  around.  But  on  the  morning 
of  the  festival,  after  the  streets  had  been  hung 
with  their  white  drapery  and  green  garlands,  a 
wretched  rain  began  to  pour  down  in  torrents, 
driven  from  the  west  by  a sobbing  wind.  So 
black  a sky  never  had  been  seen  over  Paimpol. 

Nobody  will  come  from  Ploubazlanec,  that ’s 
sure,”  sadly  exclaimed  the  girls  whose  sweethearts 
lived  there.  And  come  in  fact  they  4id  not,  or 
if  they  did,  they  took  refuge  immediately  in  the 
wine-shops.  There  was  no  procession,  and  no 
walking  about ; and  Gaud,  with  her  heart  more  sad 
and  oppressed  than  ever,  sat  behind  her  window 
all  the  evening,  listening  to  the  water  trickling  off 
the  roofs,  or  to  the  noisy  songs  of  the  fishermen 
issuing  from  the  wine-shops. 

She  had  been  expecting  this  visit  of  Yann  for 
several  days,  strongly  suspecting  that  Father  Gaos, 
who  did  not  like  coming  to  Paimpol,  would  send 
his  son  to  see  about  the  ship  business  which  was 
not  yet  settled.  And  she  had  resolved  to  go  and 
speak  to  him,  although  she  knew  it  was  not  what 
girls  usually  did,  to  talk  to  him  frankly  and  get 


I o8  ^JV-  ICELAND  FlSHElRMAN. 

the  matter  off  her  mind.  She  would  reproach 
him  for  having  taken  her  up  and  then  leaving 
her,  as  if  he  had  no  heart. 

Obstinacy,  rudeness,  love  of  his  seafaring  life, 
or  fear  of  being  refused,  if  tnese  obstacles  indi- 
cated by  Sylvestre  were  the  only  ones,  they  might 
be  overcome,  — why  not  ? — after  a frank  conver- 
sation such  as  theirs  would  be.  And  then  per- 
haps that  pleasant  smile  would  appear  again, 
which  would  make  everything  right,  — that  same 
smile  which  had  so  surprised  and  charmed  her 
during  that  night  of  the  ball  which  she  had  spent 
waltzing  in  his  arms ; and  this  hope  gave  her 
courage  and  filled  her  heart  with  an  almost  gentle 
patience. 

It  always  seemed  so  easy  when  it  was  in  the 
future,  so  simple  a thing  to  say  and  do. 

And  this  visit  of  Yann  happened  very  conve- 
niently ; she  was  sure  that  her  father,  who  had  just 
sat  down  to  smoke,  would  not  trouble  himself  to 
see  him  to  the  door ; and  then  in  the  hall,  where 
there  would  be  nobody  to  disturb  them,  she  could 
finally  have  her  explanation  with  him. 

But  when  the  moment  had  really  come,  it 
seemed  a terribly  bold  thing  to  do.  The  mere 
idea  of  meeting  him,  of  seeing  him  face  to  face 
at  the  foot  of  the  stairs,  made  her  tremble.  Her 
heart  was  beating  as  if  it  would  burst,  — and  to 
think  that  at  any  moment  that  door  down  there 
might  open,  with  the  little  creak  she  knew  so  well, 
to  let  him  i^ass  ! 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  109 

No,  surely  she  would  never  dare  to  do  it,  rather 
would  she  eat  her  heart  out  in  suspense  and  grief 
than  attempt  such  a thing.  She  had  already 
taken  several  steps  to  go  back  into  the  retirement 
of  her  own  room  to  sit  down  and  take  up  her 
work.  Then  she  stopped  again,  hesitating  in  dis- 
may at  the  thought  that  to-morrow  was  the  day 
of  the  fishermen’s  departure  for  Iceland,  arid  that 
this  was  the  one  and  only  chance  she  would  have 
to  speak  to  him.  If  she  missed  this,  she  would 
have  to  begin  all  over  again  those  months  of  soli- 
tary waiting  and  longing  for  his  return,  and  lose 
one  whole  summer  more  out  of  her  life. 

The  door  opened  downstairs,  and  Yann  came 
out.  With  a sudden  resolution,  she  ran  down 
the  staircase,  and  stood  trembling  before  him. 

Monsieur  Yann,  I would  like  to  speak  to  you, 
if  you  please.” 

To  me.  Mademoiselle  Gaud  ? ” said  he,  lower- 
ing his  voice  and  touching  his  hat. 

He  looked  at  her  somewhat  defiantly  out  of  his 
brilliant  eyes,  with  his  head  thrown  back,  and  a 
stern  hard  look  came  over  his  face,  as  if  he  hesi- 
tated whether  to  stop  at  all.  With  one  foot  in 
advance,  ready  to  escape,  he  set  his  great  shoub 
ders  against  the  wall,  as  if  to  get  as  far  off  from 
her  as  possible  in  the  narrow  passage  where  he 
had  been  caught. 

Then,  chilled  by  his  manner,  she  could  think 
of  none  of  the  things  she  had  prepared  to  say  to 
him ; she  had  not  thought  that  he  could  be  so 


I lO 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


rude  to  her  as  to  go  by  without  being  willing  to 
listen  to  her. 

Does  our  house  frighten  you,  Monsieur 
Yann  ? ” she  asked  in  a strange  hard  voice,  which 
was  far  different  from  the  tone  she  had  wished  to 
use. 

He  turned  his  eyes  away,  and  looked  outside. 
His  cheeks  had  become  quite  red,  with  a burning 
blush ; and  his  expressive  nostrils,  dilating  at  each 
breath,  followed  the  heaving  of  his  chest,  like  a 
bull. 

She  tried  to  go  on. 

The  evening  of  the  ball  when  we  were 
together  you  bade  me  ^ Au  revoir  ^ as  if  I was  not 
quite  indifferent  to  you.  Monsieur  Yann,  you 
have  forgotten,  then.  What  have  I done  to 
you?” 

The  gusty  west  wind  blew  into  the  hall  from 
the  street,  ruffled  Yann’s  hair  and  the  wings  of 
Gaud’s  cap,  and  banged  a door  furiously  behind 
them.  This  corridor  was  not  a good  place  for 
discussing  serious  matters.  After  the  first  sen- 
tence, which  choked  in  her  throat.  Gaud  became 
quite  mute,  and  turned  away  her  head,  unable  to 
think  of  anything  more. 

They  had  gotten  nearer  the  street  door,  he 
trying  always  to  escape. 

Outside,  the  wind  was  roaring  loudly,  and  the 
sky  was  dark  and  lowering.  A cold  livid  light 
fell  full  on  their  faces  through  the  open  door, 
and  a neighbor  looked  in  at  them,  thinking. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


III 


^^What  can  they  be  saying,  those  two,  there  in 
the  passage,  looking  so  disturbed  ? What  can  be 
happening  at  the  M^vels’?’’ 

No,  Mademoiselle  Gaud,'’  he  replied  at  last, 
evading  her  with  the  quickness  of  an  untamed 
animal.  I ’ve  already  heard  people  talking 
about  us  in  the  country.  No,  Mademoiselle 
Gaud,  you  are  rich.  We  don’t  belong  to  the  same 
kind  of  people  ; I am  not  the  fellow  to  run  after 
you,  — no,  not  I.” 

And  with  that  he  was  gone.  So  this  was  the 
end  of  it  all ; it  was  all  over  forever.  She  had 
said  nothing  that  she  had  meant  to  in  this  inter- 
view which  had  only  served  to  make  her  appear 
bold  and  unwomanly  in  his  eyes.  What  a 
fellow  he  was,  this  Yann,  with  his  contempt  of 
women,  of  money,  of  everything  ! 

She  remained  fixed  to  the  spot,  while  every- 
thing whirled  dizzily  around -her. 

And  then  suddenly  another  thought  struck  her, 
more  intolerable  than  all  the  rest.  These  friends 
of  Yann,  these  Icelanders  who  were  strolling  up 
and  down  the  market-place,  waiting  for  him,  — 
suppose  he  should  tell  them  about  it  and  make 
fun  of  her  ! She  ran  up  into  her  room  again,  to 
watch  them  from  behind  the  curtains. 

There  was,  in  fact,  a group  of  these  men  before 
the  house.  But  they  were  merely  watching  the 
sky,  which  was  becoming  blacker  and  blacker  all 
the  time,  and  making  conjectures  about  the  heavy 
rain  which  threatened,  saying,  It  will  only  be 


I I 2 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


a shower,  I^et  us  go  in  and  take  a drink ; it  will 
soon  be  over.’^ 

Then  they  began  to  make  jokes  in  a loud  voice 
about  Jeannie  CarofF  and  various  other  girls;  but 
nobody  even  looked  toward  her  window. 

They  were  all  in  good  spirits,  except  Yann, 
who  made  no  reply  to  their  jokes,  but  remained 
quite  grave  and  sad.  He  did  not  go  in  to  drink 
with  the  others,  but  without  noticing  either  them 
or  the  rain  which  was  beginning  to  fall,  he  walked 
slowly  away  under  the  steady  down- pour,  as  if 
lost  in  thought,  crossing  the  market-place  in  the 
direction  of  Ploubazlanec. 

And  then  she  forgave  him  everything,  and  a 
feeling  of  hopeless  tenderness  took  the  place  of 
the  bitter  anger  which  had  first  risen  in  her  heart. 

She  sat  down  with  her  head  in  her  hands. 
What  could  she  do  now? 

Oh,  if  he  only  would  have  listened  to  her  for 
one  moment,  if  he  would  have  gone  with  her  into 
some  room  where  they  could  have  talked  in  peace 
alone  together,  everything  might  still  have  been 
explained  ! 

She  loved  him  enough  to  have  dared  to  con- 
fess it  to  his  face  ; she  would  have  said,  You 
sought  me  out  when  I cared  nothing  for  you ; 
now  I am  yours  with  my  whole  soul,  if  you  want 
me.  See,  I am  not  afraid  of  being  the  wife  of  a 
fisherman,  and  besides,  I have  only  to  choose,  if 
I want  a husband,  among  all  the  young  men  of 
Paimpol.  But  I love  you,  because  in  spite  of 


^ AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  1 13 

everything,  I think  you  are  better  than  the  others. 
I am  not  quite  poor  j I know  that  I am  pretty ; 
and  although  I have  lived  in  the  city,  I assure 
you  that  I am  not  a bad  girl,  and  have  never  done 
anything  very  wrong.  Now,  when  I love  you  so, 
why  will  you  not  take  me?” 

But  all  that  would  never  be  said,  never  except 
in  fancy.  It  was  too  late  ; Yann  would  never  lis- 
ten to  her.  Try  to  speak  to  him  a second  time  ? 
Oh,  never  ! What  kind  of  a creature  would  he 
take  her  for?  No  ! she  would  rather  die. 

And  to-morrow  they  were  going  off  to  Iceland. 

Alone  in  her  pretty  room,  in  the  cold  white 
light  of  the  February  twilight,  shivering  in  a chair 
by  the  v/all  on  which  she  had  thrown  herself  by 
chance,  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  world  was 
crumbling  away  from  under  her,  together  with  all 
things  present  and  to  come,  into  a hopeless  ter- 
rible abyss  which  was  opening  about  her.  She 
longed  to  be  done  with  life,  to  be  quietly  asleep 
in  her  grave,  to  suffer  no  more  ! But  truly  she 
forgave  him ; and  no  bitterness  mingled  with  her 
despairing  love  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  sea,  the  dull,  gray  sea. 

Over  that  trackless  way  which  leads  the  fisher- 
man each  year  to  Iceland  Yann  had  been  quietly 
8 


1 14  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

sailing  for  a day  past.  The  evening  before,  when 
they  had  all  departed,  to  the  chant  of  the  old 
hymns,  a southerly  wind  was  blowing ; and  the 
ships,  with  all  sails  set,  had  scattered  far  and  wide 
like  sea-gulls. 

Then  the  breeze  had  died  out ; their  pace  be- 
came slower ; and  banks  of  fog  began  to . travel 
low  down  over  the  surface  of  the  sea. 

Yann  was  a little  more  silent  than  usual  per- 
haps. The  calm  weather  oppressed  him ; he 
seemed  to  feel  the  need  of  action  to  chase  away 
some  preoccupation  from  his  mind.  But  there 
was  nothing  to  do  but  just  to  glide  quietly  along 
over  the  smooth  waters,  — nothing  but  just  to 
breathe  and  exist.  There  was  nothing  to  be  seen 
but  mysterious  depths  of  enveloping  gray  fog, 
nothing  to  be  heard  but  silence. 

All  of  a sudden  a dull  sound  struck  upon 
the  stillness,  — a scarcely  perceptible,  but  unusual 
sound,  and  one  that  came  from  below  with  a 
scraping  sensation,  as  when  one  puts  the  brake 
on  a carriage  ; and  the  Marie  ” suddenly  stopped 
dead. 

‘^Aground  ! where,  and  on  what? 

Some  sand-bank  on  the  English  coast  probably ; 
but  they  had  seen  nothing  since  the  evening 
before,  on  account  of  these  curtains  of  fog. 

The  crew  ran  hurriedly  about,  their  excited 
movements  contrasting  strongly  with  the  sudden 
and  rigid  immovability  of  their  boat.  There  the 
Marie  was,  stuck  and  unable  to  budge  1 In 


AJSr  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


I15 


the  midst  of  this  great  watery  world  which  in  the 
muggy  soft  weather  seemed  to  have  scarcely  any 
consistency  at  all,  she  had  been  caught  by  some- 
thing unknown,  but  immovable  and  resisting, 
hidden  under  the  water.  She  was  caught  fast, 
and  was  even  in  danger  of  being  lost. 

Who  has  not  seen  a poor  bird  or  fly  caught  by 
its  feet  in  bird-lime  ? At  first  it  scarcely  perceives 
it,  and  one  notices  no  change ; it  must  first  dis- 
cover that  its  feet  are  stuck  in  something  and 
that  it  is  in  danger  of  never  getting  out  of  it.  It 
is  then  that  it  begins  to  struggle,  that  the  sticky 
substance  begins  to  soil  its  wings  and  head ; and 
then  it  takes  on  little  by  little  that  pitiful  look  of 
a thing  in  distress  and  near  to  death. 

It  was  so  with  the  Marie  ; ” in  the  beginning  it 
did  not  seem  to  make  much  difference  with  her. 
She  lay  over  a little  to  one  side,  it  was  true ; but 
it  was  in  the  middle  of  the  forenoon  on  a beautiful 
calm  day,  and  one  had  to  know  what  had  hap- 
pened to  be  at  all  disturbed,  or  to  understand 
that  there  was  anything  in  particular  the  matter. 

It  was  almost  pitiful  to  see  the  captain,  whose 
fault  it  was,  in  not  paying  enough  attention  to 
where  they  were,  as  he  kept  wringing  his  hands 
and  crying,  Ma  Dou^  ! ma  Doue  ! ’^  in  a tone 
of  despair. 

Quite  near  them,  as  the  fog  lifted,  they  saw  the 
outline  of  a cape  which  they  did  not  recognize  j 
and  then  the  fog  settled  down  again,  and  they 
could  see  it  no  longer. 


Il6  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

Otherwise,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen,  — not 
a sail  or  a sign  of  smoke.  For  the  present  they 
were  almost  glad  of  it ; they  were  much  afraid  of 
the  English  wreckers,  who  would  come  to  get 
them  out  of  their  trouble  after  their  own  fashion, 
and  who  are  almost  as  bad  as  pirates. 

They  tried  everything,  shifting  and  changing 
the  ballast.  Turk,  the  dog,  who  was  not  in  the 
least  afraid  of  any  motion  of  the  vessel  at  sea, 
was  very  much  disturbed  by  the  affair.  These 
noises  from  below,  these  rough  shocks  when  the 
swell  passed  under,  and  then  this  stoppage  ! — he 
understood  perfectly  well  that  it  was  something 
that  was  not  natural,  and  hid  himself  in  corners 
with  his  tail  between  his  legs. 

Then  they  got  out  the  small  boats,  dropped 
anchor,  and  pulled  with  their  united  force  on  the 
hawsers,  trying  to  haul  her  off,  — a toilsome  expe- 
dient which  they  tried  for  ten  hours  at  a stretch. 
By  evening  the  poor  boat,  which  had  come  up  so 
fresh  and  clean  in  the  morning,  was  already  in  a 
sorry  plight,  flooded  and  dirty  and  in  utter  dis- 
order. She  had  struggled  and  beaten  herself, 
trying  in  every  way  to  shake  herself  free,  and  still 
she  stuck  fast  like  a lifeless  hulk. 

The  night  was  closing  over  them,  the  wind  was 
rising,  and  the  seas  were  rolling  higher ; the  pros- 
pect was  getting  worse  and  worse,  when  all  at 
once,  about  six  o’clock,  they  suddenly  slid  off  the 
banks,  breaking  all  the  hawsers  which  had  been 
stretched  to  hold  them  in  position  as  they  went. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  1 1 7 

And  then  the  whole  crew  were  to  be  seen 
running  up  and  down  the  deck  like  madmen, 
shouting,  — 

We  are  afloat ! 

They  were  olif  indeed,  and  what  words  could 
express  the  joy  of  it ! To  feel  themselves  moving, 
and  the  boat  becoming  alive  and  light  again,  in- 
stead of  being  nearly  a wreck,  as  they  were  but  a 
short  time  ago  1 

Yann’s  sadness  left  him  at  the  same  moment. 
Relieved,  like  his  boat,  cured  by  the  healthy  labor 
of  his  arms,  he  regained  his  careless  air  and  shook 
off  his  troublesome  memories. 

The  morning  after,  when  they  had  finished  fish- 
ing up  their  anchors,  he  went  on  his  way  toward 
the  frigid  north  with  a heart  apparently  as  free  as 
in  former  years. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


Off  there,  on  board  the  Circe  ” nPthe  harbor 
of  D’  Ha- Long,  at  the  other  end  of  the  world,  a 
French  mail  was  being  distributed.  In  the  mid- 
dle of  a group  of  sailors,  who  were  crowding 
around  him,  the  purser  was  loudly  calling  out  the 
names  of  the  fortunate  ones  for  whom  there  were 
letters. 

It  was  in  the  evening,  on  the  gun-deck,  and  they 
pushed  and  shoved  one  another  around  the  ship’s 
lantern. 


I 1 8 AN  ICELAh'^  fisherman. 

Moan,  Sylvestre.”  There  was  one  for  him, 
— one  which  was  postmarked  Pai?npol  clearly 
enough,  but  was  not  in  Gaud’s  writing.  What 
did  that  mean,  and  who  was  it  from? 

He  turned  it  over  and  over  and  opened  it  al- 
most timidly. 

Ploubazlanec,  March  5,  1884. 

My  dear  Grandson, — 

It  was  from  his  good  old  grandmother;  he 
breathed  more  freely.  At  the  end  she  had  even 
scrawled  her  name,  the  only  thing  she  could  write, 
in  big,  shaky  letters  like  a school-boy’s,  — Widow 
Moan.”  Widow  Moan,”  — he  raised  the  paper 
\ to  his  lips  with  an  unconscious  gesture,  and  kissed 
} the  poor  name  as  if  it  were  some  sacred  charm. 
The  letter  had  come  at  the  supreme  hour  of  his 
life ; to-morrow  morning,  at  daybreak,  he  would 
be  under  fire. 

It  was  in  the  middle  of  April;  Bac-Ninh  and 
Hong-Kq^Mad  just  been  taken.  There  was 
nothing  i^ortant  in  prospect  in  Tonkin ; never- 
theless, the  reinforcements  which  kept  arriving 
were  not  considered  sufficient ; so  they  took 
from  on  board  the  ships  all  the  men  who  could 
be  spared,  to  complete  the  companies  of  marines 
that  had  already  been  landed,  And  Sylvestre, 
who  had  long  pined  in  the  blockading  squadron, 
had  been  chosen  among  others  to  fill  up  the  ranks 
of  one  of  these  companies. 

At  the  moment,  it  is  tme,  they  were  talking  of 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  II9 

peace  ; but  something  told  them,  nevertheless,  that 
they  would  still  land  in  time  to  do  a little  fighting. 
Having  packed  their  knapsacks,  finished  their 
preparations,  and  said  their  good-byes,  they 
walked  up  and  down  the  whole  evening  among 
those  who  stayed  behind,  feeling  very  proud  and 
important  beside  them.  Each  one  showed  his 
feelings  about  going  in  his  own  way ; some  were 
grave  and  a little  reserved,  and  some  chattered 
noisily  in  the  highest  spirits. 

As  for  Sylvestre,  he  was  quite  silent,  and  kept 
his  impatience  to  himself ; only  if  one  looked  at 
him,  a little  reserved  smile  said  plainly,  Oh,  yes, 
I am  here ; and  to-morrow  morning ’s  the  time.’’ 
Of  war  and  of  battle  he  had  as  yet  but  an  in- 
complete notion,  but  the  idea  of  it  fascinated  him, 
as  he  came  of  a brave  race. 

Uneasy  about  Gaud,  on  account  of  the  strange 
writing,  he  tried  to  find  a lantern  by  which  to  read 
his  letter. 

It  was  a difficult  matter  among  these  groups  of 
half-naked  men,  who  were  crowding  him  there, 
trying  also  to  read  their  letters  in  the  stifling  heat 
of  the  gun-deck. 

At  the  end  of  the  letter,  as  he  had  expected. 
Grandmother  Yvonne  explained  why  she  had 
been  obliged  to  have  recourse  to  the  less  practised 
hand  of  an  old  neighbor. 

My  dear  Child,  — Your  cousin  is  not  writing 
this  for  me  this  time,  for  she  is  in  great  trouble. 
Her  father  died  suddenly  two  days  ago,  and  it  ap- 


120 


AAT  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


pears  that  his  fortune  had  been  entirely  eaten  up  by 
his  unfortunate  speculations  last  winter  in  Paris. 
The  house  and  furniture  are  to  be  sold.  It  is  a thing 
nobody  in  the  country  expected  ever  to  see  ; and  I 
am  sure,  dear  child,  that  it  will  be  as  great  a grief  to 
you  as  it  is  to  me. 

Young  Gaos  sends  his  regards  to  you  ; he  has  re- 
engaged with  Captain  Guermeur  on  the  “ Marie,’’  as 
usual,  and  they  left  for  Iceland  quite  early  this  sea- 
son. They  set  sail  on  the  first  day  of  this  month, 
the  evening  before  the  great  misfortune  which  befell 
our  poor  Gaud,  and  they  know  nothing  about  it  yet. 
And  so  you  will  understand,  my  dear  son,  that  it  is 
all  over  now  ; we  will  never  see  them  married,  for 
now  she  will  have  to  work  to  earn  her  bread. 


> 


He  stopped  aghast.  The  bad  news  had  spoiled 
all  his  pleasure  in  going  into  battle. 


PART  III. 

CHAPTER  1. 

BULLET  whistling  through  the  air ! 
Sylvestre  stopped  short  and  listened. 
It  was  on  a wide  plain,  all  green  and 
velvety  with  spring,  under  a gray  and 
overhanging  sky. 

There  were  six  armed  sailors  there,  on  a muddy 
path  in  a ricefield,  reconnoitring. 

Again  ! the  same  sound  in  the  still  air,  — a 
sharp,  humming  sound,  a kind  of  prolonged 
dzinn,  — giving  one  a very  good  impression  of 
what  kind  of  a hardj  wicked  little  thing  it  was 
which  flew  past  so  quickly  and  so  straight,  and 
which  might  bring  death  with  it. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Sylvestre  heard 
that  music.  Those  shots  which  come  toward 
you  have  a very  different  sound  from  those  you 
fire  yourself.  The  report  of  the  gun  at  a great 
distance  comes  so  faint  as  scarcely  to  be  distin- 
guished ; but  the  little  whizzing  sound  of  the 


122 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


bullet  as  it  flies  toward  you,  grazing  your  ears, 
can  be  heard  very  clearly. 

And  dzinn  again,  and  dzinn.  There  was  a 
shower  of  bullets  now  all  around  the  sailors,  who 
had  stopped  short.  The  balls  buried  themselves 
in  the  wet  soil  of  the  ricefields,  as  they  fell  with 
a little  quick,  sharp  sound,  like  hail,  and  with  a 
slight  splash  of  water. 

They  looked  at  one  another  and  smiled  as  if  it 
were  an  amusing  farce,  and  said,  — 

The  Chinamen  ” (to  sailors  Annamites,  Ton- 
kinois,  Pavillons-noirs,  are  all  Chinamen). 

And  how  their  disdain,  and  the  old,  contemp- 
tuous grudge,  and  desire  to  fight  them  came  out 
in  the  way  they  cried,  ‘^The  Chinamen  ” ! 

Two  or  three  more  balls  whistled  by,  lower 
down  this  time ; they  could  see  them  bounding 
along  like  grasshoppers  in  the  grass.  The  rain 
of  bullets  had  scarcely  lasted  a minute ; and  it 
had  already  stopped.  Over  the  great  green  plain 
dead  silence  came  again ; and  they  could  see 
nothing  stirring  anywhere. 

They  stood  up  straight,  all  six,  with  watchful 
eyes,  scenting  the  breeze,  trying  to  discover  where 
the  shots  could  have  come  from. 

From  over  there,  surely,  from  that  clump  of 
bamboos,  standing  up  in  the  midst  of  the  plain 
like  a little  island  of  feathers,  behind  which,  half- 
concealed,  appeared  the  horned  roofs  of  some 
huts.  So  they  ran  in  that  direction,  their  feet 
sinking  and  slipping  in  the  wet  soil  of  the  rice- 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  123 

field ; and  Sylvestre,  whose  legs  were  longer  and 
who  ran  quicker  than  the  others,  was  the  one  who 
was  ahead. 

No  whizzing  sound  now;  they  almost  thought 
they  had  been  dreaming.  And  as  in  all  the  coun- 
tries of  the  world  some  things  are  always  the 
same,  — the  gray  of  the  lowering  skies,  the  fresh 
green  of  the  meadows  in  spring,  — you  would 
almost  have  thought  you  saw  the  fields  of  France, 
and  that  these  young  men  running  along  were 
playing  at  some  other  game  than  that  of  death. 

But  the  nearer  they  got,  the  more  clearly  ap- 
peared the  fine  exotic  foliage  of  the  bamboo-trees, 
the  strange  curves  of  the  village  roofs,  and  the 
yellow  men  lying  in  ambush,  their -flat  faces  con- 
tracted with  fear  and  hate,  who  with  a yell  de- 
ployed out  into  a long  irregular  line,  which  still 
looked  steady  and  dangerous  enough. 

The  Chinamen,”  said  the  sailors  again,  with 
the  same  brave  smile. 

All  the  same,  they  found  there  were  enough  of 
them,  — too  many,  in  fact ; and  one  of  their 
number,  turning  around,  saw  others  coming  from 
behind,  out  of  the  grass.  ^ 

How  handsome  he  was,  our  little  Sylvestre, 
that  moment  on  that  day  ! His  old  grandmother 
would  have  been  proud  to  see  him  so  warlike  and 
so  brave.  Two  or  three  days  had  transformed 
him  quite,  and  with  his  bronzed  face  and  altered 
voice  he  seemed  to  be  in  his  own  proper  element. 
For  one  moment,  while  bullets  were  flying  about 


124 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


them  in  every  direction,  they  wavered,  and  had 
already  begun  the  retreat,  v/hich  would  have 
meant  death  for  every  one  of  them. 

Sylvestre,  however,  continued  to  advance,  and 
taking  his  gun  by  the  barrel,  kept  a whole  group 
of  the  enemy  at  bay,  sweeping  his  weapon  from 
right  to  left  with  tremendous  blows,  which  would 
have  felled  an  ox;  and  thanks  to  him,  the  for- 
tune of  the  day  was  changed ; the  panic,  the 
terror,  the  something  which  decides  blindly  in  all 
such  little  undirected  skirmishes,  took  possession 
of  the  Chinese,  and  it  was  they  who  began  to  fall 
back. 

It  was  over  now.  They  were  flying,  and  the 
six  sailors,  having  rapidly  reloaded,  picked  them 
off  at  their  ease ; and  there  were  red  stain3  in  the 
grass,  and  fallen  bodies  and  split  skulls,  with  brains 
oozing  out  into  the  water  of  the  field. 

They  ran,  bent  double  and  close  to  the  ground, 
flattening  themselves  down  like  leopards : and 
Sylvestre  ran  after  them,  already  wounded  twice, 
with  a spear-thrust  in  his  thigh  and  a deep  gash 
in  his  arm,  but  feeling  nothing  but  the  intoxi- 
cation of  battle,  — that  unreasoning  frenzy  of  hot 
young  blood  which  gives  to  simple  men  the  su- 
perb courage  of  ancient  heroes. 

He  whom  he  was  pursuing  turned  around  all 
at  once  to  aim  at  him,  with  a sudden  impulse 
of  desperate  fright ; and  Sylvestre  stopped,  smil- 
ing, contemptuous,  and  sublime,  waiting  for  him 
to  shoot,  then  threw  himself  to  one  side,  seeing 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


125 


the  direction  of  his  aim,  but  with  the  movement 
of  the  trigger,  the  muzzle  of  the  gun  swerved  in 
the  same  direction,  and  then  Sylvestre,  feeling  a 
shock  in  his  breast,  and  understanding  well  what 
it  was  by  intuition,  turned  around,  even  with  all 
the  pain,  toward  the  other  sailors,  who  were  fol- 
lowing him,  trying  to  say  like  an  old  soldier  the 
sacred  phrase,  I think  I ’m  done  for.’^ 

With  the  deep  breath  that  he  was  drawing,  as 
he  ran,  to  fill  his  lungs,  he  felt  the  air  come  in 
also  through  a hole  in  his  breast,  with  a horrible 
little  sound  like  that  of  a broken  bellows ; at  the 
same  moment  his  mouth  filled  with  blood,  and  he 
felt  a sharp  pain  in  his  side,  which  rapidly  grew 
worse  until  it  became  frightful  agony. 

He  turned  dizzily  around  two  or  three  times, 
trying  to  get  his  breath  through  all  this  red  liquid 
which  rose  and  choked  him,  and  then  fell  heavily 
over  in  the  mud. 


CHAPTER  11. 

About  a fortnight  afterward,  as  the  weather 
was  already  darkening,  — for  the  rainy  season  and 
the  heat  had  become  more  oppressive  than  ever 
in  yellow  Tonkin,  — Sylvestre,  whom  they  had 
brought  to  Hanoi,  was  sent  by  way  of  the  port  of 
D’Ha-Long  to  be  put  on  board  a hospital  trans- 
port which  was  returning  to  France. 


126 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


He  had  been  carried  about  for  a long  time  on 
various  stretchers  between  ambulance  stations. 
Everything  possible  had  been  done  for  him ; but 
under  the  unfavorable  conditions,  his  lungs  had 
filled  with  water  on  the  wounded  side,  and  air 
kept  coming  in  with  a little  bubbling  sound 
through  the  hole  which  would  not  close. 

He  had  been  awarded  the  military  medal,  and 
that  had  given  him  a moment’s  pleasure. 

But  he  was  no  longer  the  soldier  he  had  been, 
with  his  courageous  air  and  his  deep  strong  voice. 
No,  all  that  had  passed  away  with  the  prolonged 
suffering  and  the  exhausting  fever.  He  had  be- 
come a homesick  child  again ; he  scarcely  spoke, 
and  replied  only  to  questions  in  a weak,  soft  voice 
which  could  scarcely  be  heard.  To  feel  himself 
so  ill,  and  so  far,  so  very  far  away,  to  think  of  the 
days  and  days  it  would  take  before  he  could  get 
home,  — if  he  could  only  live  till  then,  — but  he 
was  growing  so  weak  ! 

This  feeling  of  being  terribly  far  away  was  a 
thing  which  constantly  haunted  him  and  disturbed 
his  dreams ; and  when  after  hours  of  torpor  he 
felt  again  the  terrible  pain  of  his  wounds,  the 
burning  of  the  fever,  and  the  little  wheezing 
sound  of  his  pierced  lung,  then  it  was  that  he 
begged  to  be  put  on  board  and  sent  home  at  any 
risk.  He  was  very  heavy  to  lift  in  his  cot,  and 
in  spite  of  their  best  endeavors,  he  was  terribly 
shaken  while  he  was  being  carried.  Once  on 
board  the  transport,  which  was  on  the  point  of 


AN^  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


127 


starting,  they  put  him  to  bed  in  one  of  those  little 
iron  bedsteads  which  were  ranged  in  lines  as  in  a 
hospital,  and  so  he  began  his  long  voyage  back 
across  the  seas.  Only  this  time,  instead  of  living 
like  a bird,  perched  up  in  the  rigging  among  the 
breezes,  it  was  in  the  oppressive  atmosphere  of 
between-decks,  in  the  midst  of  mingled  odors  of 
medicines,  wounds,  and  sickness. 

During  the  first  days  the  joy  of  starting  home- 
ward made  him  a little  better.  He  could  lie 
propped  up  in  bed  with  pillows,  and  would  some- 
times ask  for  his  box.  This  sailor’s  box  was  a 
little  desk  of  white  wood  which  he  had  bought  in 
Paimpol  to  keep  his  treasures  in.  There  was  a 
letter  from  Grandmother  Yvonne,  several  from 
Yann  and  Gaud,  a copy-book  in  which  he  had 
written  out  some  sailors’  songs,  and  a book  of 
Confucius  in  Chinese,  — chance  booty,  on  whose 
blank  pages  he  had  written  his  naive  journal  of 
the  campaign. 

His  wound,  however,  did  not  heal;  and  after 
the  first  week  the  surgeons  decided  that  his  life 
could  not  be  saved.  And  now  they  were  near 
the  equator  during  the  fearful  heat  of  the  rainy 
season.  But  the  transport  kept  up  her  pace, 
shaking  and  shifting  the  beds,  witli  their  ill  and 
wounded,  sailing  rapidly  along  over  the  rolling 
sea,  which  was  still  rough,  as  if  a monsoon  had 
lately  passed  over  it. 

Since  their  departure  from  D’ Ha- Long  more 
than  one  had  died,  whom  they  had  been  forced 


128 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


to  throw  overboard  with  all  his  little  belongings. 
On  one  day  it  was  very  dark  in  the  floating  hos- 
pital. They  had  been  obliged,  on  account  of 
the  heavy  sea,  to  shut  the  port-holes,  and  then 
the  choking  hole  of  the  sick  became  more  hor- 
rible than  ever. 

Sylvestre  was  worse  ; the  end  had  come.  Ly- 
ing always  on  his  wounded  side,  he  pressed  it  to- 
gether with  his  two  hands  with  all  the  remaining 
force  he  had,  to  try  to  keep  the  water  still,  which 
was  destroying  his  right  lung,  while  he  endeav- 
ored to  breathe  only  with  the  left.  But  little  by 
little  the  other  also  had  become  affected,  and  the 
last  agony  had  begun. 

Dreams  of  his  country  haunted  his  dying  brain ; 
and  in  the  heated  darkness  figures  whom  he  loved 
or  feared  came  to  bend  over  him.  He  was  lost  in 
a continuous  delirious  dream  in  which  Brittany 
and  Iceland  passed  ever  before  his  eyes.  In  the 
morning  he  had  asked  for  the  priest,  — an  old 
man  who  had  seen  many  sailors  die,  and  who 
was  amazed  to  find  under  that  manly  exterior  the 
innocence  of  a little  child. 

Sylvestre  kept  asking  for  air,  air,  but  there  was 
none  anywhere  ; the  air  funnels  gave  no  more,  and 
the  nurse,  who  fanned  him  constantly  with  a fan 
painted  with  Chinese  flowers,  only  kept  in  motion 
over  him  the  unhealthful  atmosphere  whose  un- 
wholesomeness had  already  been  breathed  over  a 
hundred  times  until  the  lungs  could  no  longer 
endure  it. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


129 


Sometimes  he  would  try  desperately  to  get  out 
of  bed,  where  he  knew  so  well  that  death  was 
coming  on,  to  get  out  into  the  open  air  above  to 
try  to  live  again  ! Oh,  those  others  running  up 
there  among  the  shrouds,  and  living  among  the 
rigging  ! But  all  the  mighty  effort  which  he  made 
only  slightly  raised  his  weak  neck  and  head  like 
a half  movement  in  sleep.  Oh,  no,  he  could 
not ! he  fell  back  again  into  the  same  hollow 
in  his  neglected  bed,  where  death  had  already 
pinioned  him ; and  every  time  he  made  the  effort, 
he  lost  for  a moment  consciousness  of  everything. 

They  had  opened  a port-hole  to  please  him,  al- 
though it  was  very  dangerous,  as  the  sea  was  still 
very  high.  It  was  about  six  o’clock  in  the  even- 
ing, and  when  the  iron  port  was  raised,  it  was  only 
light  that  came  in,  in  red  and  dazzling  rays.  The 
sun  appeared  over  the  horizon  in  wonderful  mag- 
nihcence,  through  a rift  in  the  sombre  sky;  its 
blinding  rays  lay  across  the  rolling  sea,  and  lit  up 
the  rocking  transport  like  a waving  torch. 

But  no  air  came  in ; the  little  there  was,  was  too 
lifeless  to  enter  in  and  drive  away  the  fever  fumes. 
Over  the  whole  limitless  surface  of  the  equatorial 
sea,  there  was  naught  but  warm  dampness  and 
breathless  oppressiveness,  — no  air  anywhere,  not 
even  for  those  who  were  gasping  in  death. 

One  last  vision  much  disturbed  Sylvestre,  — his 
old  grandmother  going  quickly  along  the  street, 
hurrying  fast  with  an  expression  of  agonizing 
anxiety  on  her  face,  the  rain  falling  over  her 
9 


130  ^N-  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

from  dark  and  overhanging  clouds,  as  she  went 
to  Paimpol,  to  learn  from  the  Marine  Office  that 
he  was  dead. 

He  had  come  to  his  last  struggle,  and  the 
death-rattle  was  in  his  throat.  They  sponged 
away  the  blood  and  wat.er  from  the  corners  of 
his  mouth,  as  it  rose  in  floods  from  his  lungs  in 
those  last  agonized  contortions.  And  still  the 
splendid  declining  sun  shone  like  a world  on  fire, 
tinging  the  clouds  blood-red ; through  the  port- 
hole a great  ray  of  red  fire  shot  in,  falling  upon 
Sylvestre’s  bed  and  making  a flaming  nimbus 
around  him. 

At  this  same  moment  over  there  in  Brittany 
they  could  also  see  the  sun,  as  the  clocks  were 
striking  noon.  It  was  the  very  same  sun,  and  at 
the  same  moment  in  its  endless  existence  ; and  yet 
it  had  a very  different  aspect,  as  quite  high  up  in 
the  bluish  sky,  it  was  shining  with  a soft  white 
light  on  Grandmother  Yvonne,  sewing  at  her  door. 

In  Iceland,  where  it  was  morning,  they  could  ' 
see  it  too  at  this  moment  of  death.  It  was  still 
paler  up  there,  and  could  only  be  seen,  one 
would  have  said,  by  a sort  of  oblique  tour  de 
force.  It  was  shining  in  a melancholy  way  over 
a fiord  where  the  Marie  ’’  was  lying ; and  the  sky 
about  it  had  that  pure  northern  clearness,  such  as 
makes  one  think  of  frozen  planets,  swinging  in 
airless  space. 

It  brought  out  with  a cold  distinctness  all  the 
details  of  that  stony  chaos  which  is  called  Ice- 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  13I 

land ; and  the  whole  country  as  seen  from  the 
Marie  ” seemed  to  have  been  hewn  out  after  one 
pattern,  and  to  be  kept  there  in  motionless 
silence,  and  Yann,  who  was  fishing  as  usual, 
looked  a little  strange  in  the  curious  light  of 
this  lunar  landscape. 

At  the  moment  that  this  red  beam  which  came 
through  the  port-hole  was  extinguished,  as  the 
equatorial  sun  disappeared  under  the  gilded  sea, 
the  eyes  of  the  dying  boy  turned  upward,  and 
then  they  closed  the  lids  with  their  long  lashes, 
and  Sylvestre  became  calm  again  and  very  beauti- 
ful, like  a recumbent  statue. 


CHAPTER  III. 

I CANNOT  help  recording  the  story  of  Sylvestre’s 
funeral,  which  I conducted  myself,  away  off  there 
in  the  Island  of  Singapore.  So  many  had  had  to 
be  buried  in  the  sea  during  the  first  days  of  the 
voyage,  and  this  unhealthful  country  was  then  so 
near,  that  it  had  been  decided  to  keep  him  a 
few  hours  longer  so  as  to  bury  him  there. 

The  ceremony  took  place  very  early  in  the 
morning,  on  account  of  the  terrible  sun.  His 
body  was  covered  with  the  flag  of  France,  as  it 
rested  in  the  small  boat  which  v/as  conveying  it 
to  the  land. 

'fhe  great  strange  city  lay  still  asleep,  as  we 


132  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

rowed  up ; and  a little  wagon,  sent  by  the  consul, 
awaited  us  on  the  quay.  In  it  we  put  Sylvestre 
and  the  wooden  cross  which  had  been  made  on 
board.  The  paint  was  still  fresh  upon  it,  as  the 
time  had  been  so  short,  and  the  white  letters 
of  his  name  had  run  in  streaks  into  the  black 
background. 

We  crossed  this  land  of  Babel  as  the  sun  was 
rising,  and  were  astonished  to  find  there,  only 
a step  from  the  filthy,  yelling  Chinese  crowd, 
the  quiet  of  a French  church.  Under  the 'high 
white  roof  where  I stood  alone  with  my  sailors, 
the  Dies  Irae,  chanted  by  a missionary  priest, 
sounded  like  some  sweet  magic  incantation. 
Through  the  open  door  the  world  looked  like  an 
enchanted  garden  with  its  wonderful  foliage  and 
gigantic  palms ; and  as  the  wind  shook  the  great 
flowering  trees,  a shower  of  carmine  petals  fell 
down  just  at  the  church  door. 

Afterward  we  went  to  the  cemetery,  which  was 
very  far  away.  Our  little  funeral  cortege  of 
sailors  seemed  a very  modest  one,  but  over  the 
coffin  still  lay  the  flag  of  France.  We  had  to 
cross  the  Chinese  quarter,  filled  with  swarms  of 
yellow  humanity,  then  through  the  streets  where 
the  Malays  and  Indians  lived,  where  all  types  of 
Asiatic  faces  watched  us  with  wondering  eyes  as 
we  went  by. 

And  then  into  the  country,  where  it  was  already 
j warm,  through  shadowy  paths,  where  wonderful 
butterflies  with  blue,  velvety  wings  were  flying, 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


133 


where  flowers  and  palms  grew  luxuriantly  in  all 
the  splendor  of  equatorial  vegetation ; and  finally 
we  reached  the  cemetery,  filled  with  tombs  of 
mandarins,  which  were  covered  with  many-colored 
inscriptions,  dragons  and  monsters  surrounded 
by  marvellous  foliage  and  unknown  plants.  The 
spot  where  we  stopped  looked  like  a corner  out 
of  the  gardens  of  India. 

Then  we  set  up  on  his  grave  the  little  wooden 
cross,  which  had  been  so  hastily  put  together 
during  the  night,  and  whereon  was  painted, — 
Sylvestre  Moan, 
aged  nineteen  years. 

And  there  we  left  him,  hurrying  away  on  ac- 
count of  the  sun,  which  was  already  high  in  the 
heavens,  and  only  turning  backward  for  one  last 
look  at  the  little  cross  under  the  wonderful  trees 
and  gigantic  flowers. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

The  transport  went  on  its  way  across  the 
Indian  Ocean.  Many  wretched  and  ill  were  still 
shut  up  below  in  the  floating  hospital ; but  on 
deck  there  was  nothing  but  careless  youth  and 
good  health,  and  all  around  them  from  across  the 
sea  a very  festival  of  pure  air  and  sunshine. 

In  the  fair  weather  of  the  trade  winds  the 
sailors,  stretched  under  the  shadow  of  the  sails, 


134 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


would  amuse  themselves  with  their  parrots,  mak- 
ing them  run  about.  (In  Singapore,  whence  they 
had  come,  all  kinds  of  birds  and  animals  which 
the  passing  sailors  buy  for  pets  are  offered  for 
sale.)  They  had  all  chosen  parrots,  with  baby 
expressions  on  their  bird  faces,  which  had  no  tails 
as  yet,  but  were  already  green,  — and  what  a 
green  ! Their  parents  had  doubtless  been  green ; 
and  they  had  inherited  the  same  color,  and 
on  the  clean  white  deck  of  the  vessel,  they 
looked  like  very  fresh  leaves  fallen  from  a 
tropical  tree. 

Sometimes  the  sailors  would  collect  them  all 
together ; and  then  the  little  creatures  would  look 
at  one  another  in  a very  droll  way,  turning  their 
heads  about  in  every  direction  as  if  to  examine 
one  another  from  every  point  of  view.  They  limped 
about  as  if  they  were  lame,  with  very  funny  little 
hops,  starting  off  all  at  once  in  a great  hurry  to 
get  somewhere  or  other,  and  very  often  tumbling 
down. 

Other  sailors  were  teaching  monkeys  tricks,  — 
another  favorite  amusement  of  theirs.  Some  of 
these  little  animals  were  greatly  petted  by  the 
sailors,  and  would  cling  to  the  rough  shoulders  of 
their  masters,  looking  up  at  them  with  almost 
human  eyes,  half  pitiful,  half  grotesque. 

On  the  stroke  of  three,  the  quarter-master 
brought  up  on  deck  two  canvas  sacks,  sealed  with 
large  seals  of  red  wax,  and  marked  with  the  name 
of  Sylvestre.  All  his  clothes,  and  everything  that 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


^35 


had  belonged  to  him  in  the  world,  were  to  be  sold 
at  auction,  according  to  the  regulation  with  re- 
gard to  the  effects  of  the  dead ; and  the  sailors 
gathered  eagerly  around.  There  are  so  many  of 
these  auctions  on  board  naval  hospital  ships  that 
the  sailors  are  but  little  affected  by  them ; and 
then,  besides,  Sylvestre  had  been  so  little  known 
on  board.  His  jackets,  his  shirts,  his  blue-striped 
jerseys,  were  handled  and  turned  over ; and  some 
of  them  brought  quite  a sum,  the  sailors  bidding  up 
the  price  for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 

Then  came  the  sacred  little  box,  which  was 
valued  at  fifty  sous.  They  had  taken  out  the 
letters  and  the  military  medal  to  send  them  to 
his  family ; but  the  copy-book  with  the  songs,  the 
book  of  Confucius,  the  needles,  buttons,  and  all 
the  little  things  which  Grandmother  Yvonne  had 
put  in  for  his  mending  and  repairing,  were  still 
left  in  it.  Then  the  quarter-master,  who  was 
holding  up  the  various  articles  for  sale,  exhibited 
two  little  Buddhas  taken  from  a pagoda  as  a pres- 
ent for  Gaud,  which  looked  so  absurd  that  the 
sailors  roared  with  laughter  to  see  them  put  up 
as  the  last  lot.  But  if  these  sailors  laughed,  it 
was  not  for  lack  of  feeling,  but  simply  because 
they  were  thoughtless. 

Finally  the  bags  themselves  were  sold,  and  the 
purchaser  began  to  rub  off  the  name  on  them,  so 
that  he  could  put  on  his  own  in  its  place. 

And  afterward  they  carefully  swept  the  deck  to 
clear  it  of  what  remained  of  dust  or  ends  of  thread 


136 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


after  the  unpacking.  And  then  the  sailors  gayly 
went  back  to  their  amusements,  — to  their  parrots 
and  their  monkeys. 


CHAPTER  V. 

One  day  in  the  first  half  of  the  month  of  June, 
as  old  Yvonne  was  going  back  toward  her  cottage, 
her  neighbors  told  her  that  some  one  from  the 
commissioner  of  the  navy  department  had  been 
to  see  her. 

It  was  something  about  her  grandson,  of  course, 
but  that  caused  her  no  anxiety.  The  families  of 
seafaring  people  are  always  having  business  with 
the  department,  and  she,  who  had  been  daughter, 
wife,  mother,  and  grandmother  of  sailors,  had  been 
known  at  the  office  for  nearly  sixty  years. 

It  was  something  about  his  commission,  no 
doubt,  or  some  little  debt  which  he  had  incurred 
on  board  the  ‘^Circe,’^  which  would  have  to  be 
paid.  Knowing  what  was  due  to  '^Monsieur  le 
Commissaire,’*  she  dressed  herself  carefully  in  her 
Sunday  dress  and  a white  cap,  and  then  set  out 
about  two  o’clock.  She  walked  quite  briskly 
along  the  cliff-path  toward  Paimpol,  really  a little 
anxious  when  she  came  to  think  it  over,  because 
of  not  having  had  any  letters  for  two  months. 
She  went  by  her  old  lover,  sitting  at  his  doorway, 
much  aged  since  the  frosts  of  the  winter  before. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  137 

Well,  when  you  are  ready,  you  know,  — don’t 
trouble  yourself,  my  beauty.”  That  old  joke 
about  the  dress  of  wooden  boards  was  still  run- 
ning in  his  head. 

The  bright  June  day  was  smiling  all  about  her. 
On  the  high  rocky  places  there  is  never  anything 
but  low  furze  and  golden-rod ; but  as  soon  as 
one  comes  down  into  the  little  hollows  which  are 
sheltered  from  the  sharp  sea-breeze,  one  finds 
immediately  beautiful  fresh  verdure,  hedges  of 
flowering  thorn,  and  tall  and  fragrant  grasses. 
But  she  scarcely  noticed  it  all,  so  old  was  she, 
and  so  many  changing  seasons  had  passed  over 
her  head  that  now  they  seemed  hardly  more  than 
so  many  days  to  her. 

About  the  hamlets  and  their  houses,  with  dark 
and  sunken  walls,  grew  roses,  pinks,  and  asters, 
and  a myriad  little  wild-flowers,  which  grew  nearly 
up  to  the  roofs  of  thatch  or  moss,  and  were  just 
spreading  out  their  tiny  petals. 

There  was  no  love-making  in  the  springtime  in 
this  country  of  the  Icelanders ; and  the  beautiful 
girls  of  this  proud  race,  who  were  to  be  seen 
dreaming  and  absent-minded  at  the  cottage  doors, 
seemed  to  be  gazing  with  their  eyes  of  blue  and 
brown  far  away  beyond  the  visible  things  which 
surrounded  them.  The  young  men  to  whom  went 
out  their  thoughts  and  longing  were  away  fishing 
off  there  in  the  northern  sea. 

But  it  was  spring  just  the  same,  awakening  the 
senses  with  its  balmy  mildness,  noisy  with  the 


133  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

hum  of  insects  and  fragrant  with  the  odor  ot  new 
flowers. 

And  all  this  soulless  and  unconscious  Nature 
smiled  out  at  the  old  grandmother  who  was  walk- 
ing on  as  fast  as  she  could  to  hear  of  the  death  of 
her  last  remaining  grandson.  The  moment  had 
come  when  that  terrible  thing  which  had  hap- 
pened so  far  away  on  the  Chinese  sea  was  to  be 
told  her  ^^she  was  taking  that  ill-fated  journey 
which  Sylvestre  had  seen  as  he  was  dying,  and 
which  drew  from  his  eyes  their  last  agonizing  tears, 
— his  good  old  grandmother,  called  to  the  de- 
partment at  Paimpol  to  hear  that  he  was  dead. 
He  had  seen  her  clearly,  as  she  went  along  the 
road,  walking  on  very  straight  and  fast,  with  her 
little  brov/n  shawl,  her  great  cap,  and  her  um- 
brella. And  this  was  the  vision  which  had  made 
him  raise  his  head  and  struggle  in  awful  agony, 
while  the  great  red  sun  of  the  equator,  as  it  set  in 
flaming  splendor,  was  shining  through  the  port-hole 
of  the  transport,  watching  him  die. 

Only  off  there  in  his  last  vision  he  had  seen  the 
poor  old  woman  walking  under  a rainy  sky,  while 
on  the  contrary  it  was  a beautiful,  mqckmg  spring 
day. 

As  she  drew  nearer  to  Paimpol,  she  became 
more  and  more  anxious,  and  hurried  along  still 
faster. 

Finally  she  reached  the  little  gray  town  with  its 
narrow  streets  deserted  by  the  sun,  and  said  good- 
day  to  other  old  women,  her  contemporaries,  who 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  139 

were  sitting  at  their  windows.  They  were  sur- 
prised to  see  her,  and  said  to  each  other,  Where 
can  she  be  going  so  quickly  in  her  Sunday  dress, 
on  a week-day?  ” 

The  commissioner  of  the  department  was  not 
in ; only  a very  ugly  little  boy  about  fifteen  years 
old,  who  was  his  clerk,  was  there,  seated  at  a 
desk. 

As  he  was  too  ill-formed  to  become  a fisher- 
man, he  was  being  taught  to  write,  and  spent  his 
days  on  this  one  chair,  in  black  over- sleeves, 
scratching  away  at  his  paper. 

When  she  had  given  him  her  name,  he  got  up 
with  an  air  of  importance  and  took  some  stamped 
papers  out  of  a pigeon-hole. 

There  were  a number  of  them.  What  could 
that  mean?  Certificates  and  papers  with  seals, 
and  a sailor’s  account-book,  yellowed  by  the  sea- 
air,  all  seeming  to  have  an  odor  of  death  about 
them. 

He  opened  them  out  before  the  poor  old 
woman,  who  was  beginning  to  tremble  and  to 
suspect  that  something  was  wrong.  It  was  be- 
cause she  had  recognized  two  of  the  letters  which 
Gaud  had  written  for  her  to  her  grandson,  and 
which  had  come  back  to  her  unopened.  And 
this  same  thing  had  happened  twenty  years  be- 
fore, when  her  son  Pierre  had  died,  — letters  had 
been  sent  back  to  the  department  from  China 
and  returned  to  her. 

He  was  reading  now  in  an  official  tone,  — 


140  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

“ Moan,  Jean  Marie  Sylvestre,  entered  at  Paimpol, 
folio  213,  number  2091,  deceased  on  board  the  ‘Bien- 
Hoa/  the  14 — ” 

What  — what  has  happened  to  him,  my  good 
gentleman?’^ 

Deceased,  — he  is  deceased,”  he  repeated. 

He  was  not  a bad  boy,  this  clerk,  and  if  he 
told  her  brutally,  it  was  rather  on  account  of  his 
lack  of  judgment  or  his  stupidity ; and  seeing  that 
she  did  not  understand  this  fine  word,  he  ex- 
plained it  in  Breton, — 

‘‘  Marw-^o.” 

^^Marw-6o,” — he  is  dead. 

She  said  it  after  him  in  her  quivering  old  voice, 
like  a poor  cracked  echo,  repeating  some  unim- 
portant phrase. 

It  was  indeed  what  she  had  half  suspected,  and 
that  suspicion  alone  had  made  her  tremble ; but 
now  that  it  was  certain,  she  did  not  seem  to  be 
much  affected  by  it.  In  the  first  place,  her  capac- 
ity for  suffering  was  really  somewhat  dulled  on  ac- 
count of  her  age,  particularly  since  the  last  winter. 
The  pain  did  not  come  directly.  And  then  some- 
thing was  confusing  her  brain ; for  the  moment 
she  was  confounding  this  death  with  others  which 
had  happened  long  ago ; she  had  lost  so  many 
sons.  It  took  her  a moment  to  remember  that 
this  was  her  last,  her  darling,  on  whom  had  been 
spent  all  her  prayers,  her  life,  her  hopes,  and  her 
thoughts  already  so  dulled  by  the  approach  of 
second  childhood. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  14 1 

She  was  ashamed  of  showing  her  grief  before 
this  disagreeable  little  boy.  Was  this  the  way 
to  announce  a grandchild’s  death  to  his  grand- 
mother? 

She  stood  up  stiffly  against  the  desk,  pulling  at 
the  fringe  of  her  brown  shawl  with  her  poor 
chapped  hands.  And  how  far  away  from  home 
she  seemed  ! Dear  God,  what  a way  she  would 
have  to  go  quietly  and  decently  before  she  could 
reach  the  hut  where  she  so  longed  to  hide  her- 
self like  a wounded  animal  which  runs  to  earth 
to  die  ! It  was  because  she  was  terrified  at  the 
thought  of  this  long  way  home  that  she  forced 
herself  not  to  think  about  it  too  much,  or  to  really 
take  it  in. 

They  gave  her  an  order  for  the  thirty  francs 
which  came  to  her  from  the  sale  of  Sylvestre’s 
things,  then  the  letters,  the  certificates,  and  the 
box  which  contained  the  military  medal ; and  she 
took  them  awkwardly  with  her  trembling  fingers, 
changing  them  from  one  hand  to  the  other  as  she 
fumbled  for  her  pocket. 

She  went  straight  through  Pairnpol  without  see- 
ing anybody,  bent  over  as  if  she  were  going  to 
fall,  and  feeling  the  blood  rushing  into  her  ears, — 
hurrying,  driving  on,  like  a poor  old  machine 
which  is  pushed  to  its  highest  speed  for  the  last 
time,  without  any  one  troubling  about  its  breaking 
down. 

At  the  end  of  the  third  mile,  she  was  walking 
all  bent  over  and  completely  exhausted ; every 


142 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


} now  and  then  her  sabot  struck  against  a stone, 
giving  her  a painful  shock ; but  she  still  hurried  on 
to  shut  herself  up  at  home,  ever  fearful  lest  she 
might  fall  and  have  to  be  carried  there. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

See  old  Yvonne  ; she  ^s  drunk  ! ” 

She  had  fallen ; and  the  street-boys  were  run- 
ning after  her.  It  was  just  at  the  point  where 
the  parish  of  Ploubazlanec  begins,  and  there  are 
many  houses  along  the  road.  But  she  still  had 
enough  strength  to  get  up  again,  and  went  limping 
away  with  the  aid  of  her  stick. 

Old  Yvonne ’s  drunk  ! ” 

The  impudent  youngsters  peered  into  her  face 
and  laughed.  Her  cap  was  fallen  all  to  one  side. 
There  were  some  of  them  who  were  not  so  bad 
at  heart ; and  when  they  had  seen  the  look  upon 
the  old  face,  which  was  contorted  with  despair, 
they  ran  away,  frightened  and  sorry,  not  daring  to 
say  another  word. 

Once  at  home,  with  the  door  shut,  she  uttered 
the  cry  of  distress  which  had  been  choking  her, 
and  let  herself  fall  into  a comer,  with  her  head 
against  the  wall.  Her  cap  had  fallen  over  her 
eyes,  and  she  threw  it  on  the  ground,  her  poor  cap, 
always  so  scrupulously  taken  care  of.  Her  best 
Sunday  dress  was  all  soiled,  and  a thin,  yellowish- 


AAT  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


143 


white  lock  of  hair  escaped  from  her  comb  and 
fell  over  her  shoulders,  completing  her  wretched 
disorder. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

It  was  thus  that  Gaud  found  her  when  she 
came  over  to  inquire  about  her  in  the  evening, 
with  her  hair  quite  undone,  her  head  against  the 
wall,  her  face  drawn  with  anguish,  uttering  a 
plaintive  cry  like  a little  child.  She  could  scarcely 
weep ; these  very  old  women  have  few  tears  in 
their  dry  eyes. 

My  grandson  is  dead  ! ” 

And  she  threw  the  letters,  papers,  and  the  medal 
into  Gaud’s  lap. 

Gaud  glanced  quietly  through  them,  seeing 
that  it  was  indeed  true,  and  then  threw  herself 
on  her  knees  to  pray. 

So  the  two  women  remained  mutely  kneeling 
while  the  June  twilight  lingered.  In  Brittany  the 
twilight  is  very  long ; and  off  there  in  Iceland  it 
never  ends  at  all.  The  cricket,  which  brings  good 
luck,  kept  up  its  shrill  piping  on  the  hearth ; and 
the  yellow  light  of  ev  ening  shone  through  the 
window  into  this  cotcage  ui  the  Moans,  all  of 
whom  the  sea  had  taken,  and  who  were  soon  to 
become  an  extinct  rice. 

At  last  Gaud  said  — 


144 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


I will  come  myself,  dear  grandmother,  and 
live  with  you.  I will  bring  my  bed,  which  they 
left  me,  and  will  stay  with  you  and  take  care  of 
you ; you  shall  not  be  left  alone  ! ” 

She  wept  for  her  little  friend  Sylvestre ; but  the 
thought  of  another  intruded  itself  upon  her  grief 
in  spite  of  herself,  — that  one  who  was  fishing  so 
far  away. 

Yann,  — he  would  have  to  be  told  that  Sylves- 
tre was  dead ; the  messenger  boats  would  be 
leaving  just  at  the  right  time  to  take  him  the 
news.  Would  he  shed  just  one  tear  for  him? 
Perhaps,  for  he  loved  him  well.  In  the  midst  of 
her  own  tears  she  could  not  forget,  as  she  thought 
of  him,  sometimes  bitterly,  and  sometimes  with 
relenting  tenderness,  that  this  sorrow  was  coming 
to  him  also,  and  it  almost  seemed  a bond  of  union 
between  them ; in  fact,  her  heart  was  full  of  him. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

One  pale  August  evening,  the  letter  announcing 
to  Yann  the  death  of  his  brother  finally  arrived 
on  board  the  Marie  ” in  the  northern  sea ; it 
was  after  a day  of  rough  sai^hig  and  great  fatigue, 
just  at  the  moment  when  h<"  was  going  below  to 
get  his  supper  and  go  to  be  d.  With  eyes  heavy 
with  sleep  he  read  it  throug  :,  down  in  the  dim 


AA^  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


U5 

cabin  by  the  yellow  light  of  the  little  lamp,  and 
at  the  first  moment  he  too  seemed  stunned  and 
stupefied,  as  if  he  could  not  take  it  in.  As  he 
was  always  unusually  reserved  and  proud  about 
anything  that  he  felt  deeply,  he  hid  the  letter 
under  his  blue  jersey  next  his  breast,  as  sailors  do, 
without  saying  a word  to  any  one. 

Yet  he  found  he  did  not  feel  like  sitting  down 
to  supper  with  the  others,  and  not  deigning  to 
explain  why,  he  threw  himself  into  his  bunk  and 
fell  asleep.  And  then  he  dreamed  that  Syl-  / 
vestre  was  dead,  and  that  his  funeral  cortege 
was  passing  by.  / 

About  midnight,  being  in  that  state  of  mind 
which  is  peculiar  to  sailors,  who  know  the  time 
in  their  sleep,  and  who  feel  the  moment  approach- 
ing when  they  must  get  up  for  their  watch,  he  was 
still  seeing  this  burial,  and  said  to  himself,  I am 
dreaming ; fortunately,  I ’ll  have  to  wake  up  soon, 
and  then  it  will  go  away.” 

But  when  a rough  hand  was  laid  on  him,  and  a 
voice  called,  Gaos,  get  up  ! it ’s  time  to  relieve  - 
the  watch,”  he  heard  the  paper  rustle  against  his 
breast,  — a mournful  little  sound,  which  made  him 
realize  the  sad  truth.  Oh,  yes  ! the  letter ; it 
was  true,  then  ! ” and  a sharper,  more  cruel  pain 
shot  through  his  heart ; .ir'd  as  h^  hastily  arose,  in 
> his  sudden  awakenirg  he  struck  his  head  against 
the  beams  of  his  bm  k. 

Then  he  dressed,  and  lifting  the  hatch-cover, 
went  up  on  deck  to  resume  his  fishing. 


lO 


146 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


CHAPTER  IX. 

When  Yann  had  gotten  up  on  deck  he  looked 
about  him  with  his  half-opened  eyes,  out  over  the 
great  familiar  circle  of  the  sea. 

* On  that  night,  its  grandeur  wore  an  aspect  of 
wonderful  simplicity;  and  its  neutral  tints  gave 
only  the  impression  of  depth  and  distance. 

That  horizon  which  marks  no  region  of  the 
earth,  nor  yet  any  geological  period,  must  have 
worn  this  same  look  unnumbered  times  since  the 
creation  of  the  world,  when  the  eye  which  seeks 
finds  nothing,  — nothing  but  the  eternity  of  the 
material  things  that  are  and  cannot  choose  but 
be. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  was  relieved  by  a 
dim,  vague  radiance  which  came  from  one  knew 
not  whence,  and  about  the  vessel  the  wind  was 
sighing  its  aimless,  eternal  lament. 

» And  all  around  was  a melting  grayness  which 
the  eye  could  not  penetrate  ; so  does  the  slum- 
bering sea  love  to  veil,  under  quiet  nameless  tints, 
her  mighty  and  mysterious  repose.  Vaporous 
clouds  floated  on  high,  as  formless  as  material 
things  can  ^ light  seeming  to 

cover  the  sky  like  a great  veil. 

But  at  one  point  in  the  heavens,  low  down 
near  the  horizon,  there  appealed  a sort  of  wavy 
brightness,  distinct  though  di  tant,  — an  indefinite 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


147 


design,  traced  as  by  some  careless  hand ; a work 
of  chance,  not  meant  to  be  looked  at,  fugitive  and 
vanishing.  And  this  alone,  in  all  the  circumfer- 
ence of  sea  and  sky,  seemed  to  have  a m.eaning ; 
one  would  almost  have  said  that  the  melancholy 
thought  of  this  vast  silence  was  written  there, 
whither  the  eye  was  at  last  unconsciously  drawn. 

The  more  Yann’s  quick  eyes  became  accus- 
tomed to  the  dim  light  outside,  the  more  he  gazed 
at  this  single  drawing  in  the  sky,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  to  assume  the  shape  of  a vanishing  figure 
with  two  outstretched  arms ; and  now  that  he  had 
begun  to  look  at  it,  it  seemed  to  him  quite  like  a 
human  shape  magnified  to  a gigantic  size  from 
having  come  so  far.  And  then  in  his  imagination, 
where  floated  together  inexpressible  dreams  and 
superstitious  beliefs,  this  melancholy  shadow,  sunk 
in  the  edge  of  the  cloudy  sky,  intermingled  itself 
gradually  with  the  memory  of  his  dead  brother 
like  a last  manifestation  of  his  spirit.  He  was 
accustomed  to  the  strange  association  of  images 
which  is  characteristic  of  the  early  part  of  life 
and  of  childish  minds  ; but  words,  however  vague, 
are  still  too  definite  to  express  such  thoughts,  and 
one  needs  that  uncertain  language  which  we  some- 
times speak  in  dreams,  and  of  which  nothing 
remains  to  us  on  waking,  but  puzzling,  incoherent 
fragments.  As  he  watched  this  cloud,  he  felt  a 
deep  sadness  Cbme  over  him,  — a sadness  ago- 
nizing, mysterid.js^  hitherto  unknown,  which 
stopped  the  beating  of  his  heart ; and  now  for  the 


148 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


first  time  he  seemed  really  to  understand  that  he 
should  never,  never  see  his  little  brother  again. 
The  sorrow  which  had  been  long  in  piercing  that 
hard  stern  heart  of  his  had  entered  now  and  filled 
it  full.  He  saw  once  more  the  sweet  face  of 
Sylvestre  with  its  innocent,  childish  eyes,  and  when 
he  thought  of  that  meeting  and  embracing  which 
never  more  would  be,  something  like  a veil  sud- 
denly fell  before  his  eyes  in  spite  of  himself.  At 
first  he  did  not  know  what  it  was,  having  never 
wept  since  he  was  a child ; but  the  great  tears 
began  to  rain  down  his  cheeks,  and  his  deep 
chest  heaved  with  sobs. 

He  went  on  fishing  very  rapidly,  without  stop- 
ping or  saying  a word ; and  the  others,  who  heard 
him  in  the  silence,  refrained  from  showing  that 
they  noticed  him,  for  fear  of  annoying  him, 
knowing  how  proud  and  reserved  he  was.  Ac- 
cording to  his  idea,  death  was  the  end  of  every- 
thing. He  had  always  been  accustomed,  out  of 
deference,  to  join  in  the  prayers  for  the  dead  at 
home  ; but  he  had  no  belief  in  the  immortality 
of  the  soul. 

When  sailors  talk  among  one  another,  they  all 
say  the  same  thing  in  a short  and  decided  way, 
as  if  everybody  knew  it ; nevertheless,  it  does 
not  prevent  them  from  having  a vague  dread 
of  ghosts  and  fear  of  cemeterit  s,  and  an  entire  . 
confidence  in  saints  and  protec'^^^g  images,  or 
an  instinctive  veneration  for  the  sacred  ground 
around  churches. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


149 


And  then  Yann  always  expected  that  the  sea 
would  claim  him,  and  that  then  he  would  be  lost 
in  utter  annihilation ; and  the  thought  that  Syl- 
vestre  was  away  over  there  in  that  distant  land 
made  his  sorrow  still  more  hopeless  and  pro- 
found. 

With  his  disregard  of  other  people,  he  v/ept 
without  shame  or  constraint,  as  if  he  had  been 
alone. 

Outside,  it  was  getting  lighter  over  the  empty 
sea,  although  it  was  hardly  more  than  two  o’clock, 
and  at  the  same  time  the  distances  seemed  to 
extend  immeasurably. 

In  this  strange  false  dawn,  the  eyes  open  still 
wider,  and  the  awakening  mind  better  under- 
stands the  immensity  of  the  distances ; and  the 
limits  of  visible  space  retreat  still  more,  fleeing 
ever  before  the  sight. 

it  was  a pale,  pale  light,  which  gradually  grew 
brighter,  seeming  to  come  in  little  jets,  with 
slight  and  sudden  shocks ; it  made  the  heavens 
look  as  if  they  were  being  illuminated  like  a trans- 
parency, and  as  if  lamps  with  white  flames  were 
being  raised,  little  by  little,  little  by  little,  behind 
the  shapeless  gray  clouds,  — carefully  raised  with 
mysterious  caution,  for  fear  of  disturbing  the 
mournful  repose  of  the  sea. 

That  great  white  lamp  over  there,  over  the 
horizon,  was  the  sun,  weakly  dragging  itself  along 
before  making  its  slow  cold  journey  over  the  icy 
waters,  which  it  must  begin  in  the  early  morning. 


150  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

But  that  morning  there  were  no  rosy  tints  of 
dawn  in  all  the  sad  pale  sky,  and  on  board  the 
Marie  ” a strong  man  was  weeping. 

These  tears  shed  by  his  wild  brother  and  the 
deep  melancholy  of  the  outside  world  were  the 
only  tribute  of  grief  paid  to  the  memory  of  the 
poor,  obscure  little  hero  on  these  Iceland  seas 
where  half  his  life  had  been  spent. 

At  daybreak  Yann  roughly  dried  his  eyes  with 
the  sleeve  of  his  woollen  jersey,  and  wept  no  more. 
It  was  over.  He  seemed  to  become  absorbed 
again  in  his  fishing,  by  the  monotonous  habits 
of  every-day  life,  and  to  think  no  more  about 
his  grief.  And  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a 
large  shoal  of  fish  just  then,  and  their  arms  were 
hardly  strong  enough  to  pull  them  in. 

Round  about  the  fishermen,  in  the  deep  dis- 
tances, the  aspect  of  the  world  was  again  chang- 
ing. The  mighty  unveiling  of  the  universe,  the 
great  spectacle  of  dawn,  was  finished. 

Now,  on  the  contrary,  the  visible  space  seemed 
to  contract  and  to  be  closing  in.  How  could 
one,  just  before,  have  thought  the  sea  so  limit- 
less ? The  horizon  appeared  now  quite  close,  and 
it  seemed  as  if  there  was  hardly  room  enough. 
The  open  sky  was  soon  filled  with  those  float- 
ing veils,  — some  more  vague  than  clouds,  and 
some  with  fringed  outlines  just  distinguishable. 
They  fell  softly,  like  white  and  airy  gauze,  into 
the  infinite  stillness ; but  they  were  falling  all  the 
same,  and  very  soon  closed  thickly  about  them, 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  151 

until  the  atmosphere  became  almost  oppressively 
overcharged. 

It  was  the  first  August  fog  which  was  coming 
up,  and  in  a few  minutes  the  mist  became  every- 
where equally  thick  and  impenetrable  ; and  about 
the  ‘‘  Marie  ’’  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  but  a 
pale  white  dampness,  through  which  the  daylight 
filtered  dimly,  and  through  which  they  could 
scarcely  see  the  masts  and  rigging.  Here ’s 
the  sea  fog  come  at  last,”  the  men  said. 

They  had  long  been  acquainted  with  this  in- 
evitable accompaniment  of  the  second  period  of 
fishing ; but  it  meant  also  the  end  of  the  Iceland 
season,  and  that  the  time  had  come  for  them  to 
start  on- their  way  back  to  Brittany. 

It  gathered  on  their  beards  in  bright  little 
drops,  and  made  their  bronzed  faces  shine  with 
moisture ; and  when  they  looked  at  one  another 
from  opposite  ends  of  the  vessel,  they  seemed 
like  phantoms,  while  on  the  other  hand,  objects 
which  were  quite  near  by  appeared  larger  than 
ever  in  the  dull  white  light. 

They  took  care  not  to  breathe  with  their 
mouths  open,  for  then  a feeling  of  cold  and  wet 
penetrated  the  lungs. 

At  the  same  time  the  fishing  proceeded  faster 
than  ever,  and  not  a word  was  spoken  as  the 
heavy  haul  went  on. 

Every  moment  heavy  large  fish  were  pulled  in 
and  thrown  on  the  deck  with  a sound  like  the 
lash  of  a whip,  madly  flapping  their  tails  about, 


152  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

until  everything  was  splashed  with  salt  watei  and 
covered  with  the  fine  silver  scales  they  shed  in 
struggling. 

The  sailor  who  was  cutting  them  open  with  his 
great  knife  gashed  his  fingers  in  his  hurry,  and 
the  bright  red  blood  mingled  with  the  salt  and 
the  brine. 


CHAPTER  X. 

They  stayed  there  this  time  ten  days  together, 
caught  in  the  thick  fog,  and  seeing  nothing.  The 
fishing  continued  good,  and  they  were  too  busy 
to  talk.  From  time  to  time,  at  regular  intervals, 
one  of  them  blew  on  a fog-horn,  which  gave  out 
a sound  like  the  bellow  of  a wild  beast. 

And  sometimes,  from  far  in  the  depth  of  the 
white  mist,  another  bellowing  like  it  would  an- 
swer to  their  call.  And  then  the  man  on  the 
lookout  was  more  watchful  than  ever;  and  if 
the  sound  came  nearer,  all  ears  listened  for  the 
unknown  neighbor,  whom  they  would  probably 
never  be  able  to  see,  but  whose  proximity  was 
nevertheless  a danger. 

And  they  would  make  conjectures  as  to  what 
ship  it  could  be,  and  that  made  an  occupation 
for  them ; it  seemed  a sort  of  company  for  them, 
and  they  tried  hard  in  their  eagerness  to  see 
something,  to  look  through  the  impalpable  white 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  153 

muslin  curtains  which  hung  everywhere  about 
them  in  the  air. 

Then  the  sound  would  retreat,  and  the  bellow- 
ings  of  the  trumpet  die  away  and  be  lost  in  the 
dull  distance ; and  they  would  find  themselves 
alone  again  in . the  deep  stillness,  in  the  midst 
of  the  infinite  motionless  mist.  Everything  be- 
came impregnated  with  water  and  dripped  with 
salt  and  brine.  The  cold  became  more  penetra- 
ting ; the  sun  hung  still  lower  over  the  horizon ; 
and  they  began  to  have  two  or  three  hours  of 
real  night,  which  closed  in  over  them  with  a gray 
and  sombre  chill.  Every  morning  they  took 
soundings  for  fear  lest  the  Marie ''  might  drift 
upon  some  island  on  the  Iceland  coast ; but  all 
the  lines  on  board  the  Marie  ” put  together  did 
not  touch  bottom,  and  so  they  knew  that  they 
were  well  out  to  sea  in  good  deep  water. 

Their  life,  though  rough,  was  a healthy  one  ; and 
the  biting  cold  made  their  evenings  seem  more 
comfortable,  and  heightened  the  pleasant  feeling 
of  warmth  and  shelter  which  they  found  on  going 
down  into  their  massive  oak  cabin  to  sleep  or  eat. 

During  the  day,  these  men,  who  were  more 
isolated  than  cloistered  monks,  talked  little  to 
one  another.  They  would  stay  hours  and  hours 
at  the  same  post,  each  holding  his  line,  their  arms 
alone  occupied  in  the  constant  work  of  fishing. 
Though  only  separated  by  two  or  three  yards, 
they  finished  by  taking  no  notice  of  one  another. 

The  calm  of  the  fog  and  its  white  obscurity 


154  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

had  dulled  their  brains.  While  fishing,  they  would 
sing  some  old  ballad,  but  softly,  under  their 
breath,  for  fear  of  frightening  away  the  fish. 

Their  thoughts  came  very  slowly,  and  there 
were  fewer  of  them,  seeming  to  expand  and 
stretch  themselves  out,  in  order  to  fill  up  the 
time  without  leaving  any  gaps  or  intervals  of 
blankness  in  the  mind. 

And  sometimes  their  thoughts  wandered  off 
into  incoherent  and  marvellous  dreams,  as  if  in 
^ sleep ; and  the  woof  of  these  dreams  was  as 
vague  and  floating  as  a vapor. 

This  foggy  month  of  August  always  brought 
the  Iceland  season  thus  quietly  and  sadly  to  an 
end.  Still  the  same  vigorous  physical  existence 
went  on,  expanding  the  lungs  of  the  sailors  and 
hardening  their  muscles. 

^ Yann  had  quite  recovered  his  usual  manner, 
and  seemed  to  have  forgotten  his  sorrow.  Watch- 
ful and  alert,  prompt  in  action  both  in  fishing 
and  managing  the  ship,  he  went  about  his  work 
with  the  easy,  careless  manner  of  one  who  has  no 
troubles ; and  with  the  others  he  was  communi- 
cative only  when  he  chose  to  be,  — which  was 
not  often,  — and  always  held  his  head  high,  with 
an  air  at  once  indifferent  and  commanding.  ^ 

In  the  evening,  in  the  warm  oaken  cabin,  over 
which  the  china  Virgin  presided,  when  he  was 
seated  at  table  with  his  great  knife  in  his  hand 
before  some  good  hot  dish,  he  sometimes  laughed 
as  before  at  the  funny  things  the  others  said. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


155 


Perhaps  he  did  still  think  a little  in  secret  of 
this  Gaud  whom  Sylvestre  in  his  last  feeble  ago- 
nizing thoughts  had  doubtless  given  to  him  as 
his  wife,  — of  this  girl  who  was  now  left  quite  poor 
and  alone  in  the  world ; and  perhaps  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart  he  still  mourned  for  his 
brother.  But  this  heart  of  Yann  was  virgin  soil, 
ungoverned  and  untamed,  and  gave  no  outward 
sign  of  what  went  on  within. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

One  morning,  about  three  o ’clock,  as  the  crew 
of  the  Marie  ” were  dreamily  fishing  away  under 
the  fog,  they  heard  a sound  as  of  some  one 
speaking  in  a voice  which  seemed  strange  and 
unfamiliar.  Those  who  were  on  deck  looked 
questioningly  at  one  another  as  much  as  to  say, 
‘‘Who  was  that  speaking?” 

Nobody;  no  one  had  said  anything,  and  in 
fact,  it  seemed  as  if  the  voice  came  from  the 
empty  air. 

Then  the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  fog-horn, 
and  who  had  neglected  to  blow  it  since  the 
evening  before,  rushed  for  it  and  blew  with  all 
his  might  the  signal  of  alarm. 

That  alone  was  enough  to  startle  one  in  this 
deep  silence.  And  then,  as  if  some  apparition 
had  been  evoked  by  the  hoarse  sound  of  the 


156  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

horn,  a great  gray  shape  suddenly  rose  out  of 
the  fog,  towering  threateningly  near  them,  — a 
shadowy  vessel,  with  masts,  yards,  and  rigging,  ap- 
pearing all  at  once  before  their  sight  like  those 
pictures  which  are  flashed  on  a sheet  from  a 
stereopticon.  And  other  men  appeared  there 
close  enough  to  be  touched,  leaning  over  the 
bulwarks  with  wide-open  startled  eyes,  as  if  in 
a sudden  awakening  of  terrified  surprise. 

The  men  of  the  Marie  seized  oars,  jury- 
masts,  and  boat-hooks,  or  whatever  they  could 
find  in  the  forecastle  which  was  long  and  strong 
enough,  and  laid  them  out  over  the  side  of  the 
vessel  to  keep  these  visitors  at  a distance.  And 
the  others,  equally  frightened,  pushed  out  enor- 
mous poles  to  keep  them  off. 

But  there  was  only  a slight  cracking  of  the 
yards  over  their  heads.  The  rigging  caught  for 
a moment,  but  separated  immediately  without  any 
damage  being  done.  The  shock,  which  would 
have  been  very  slight  in  any  case,  on  account  of 
the  calm,  was  scarcely  felt. 

It  had  been  indeed  so  slight  that  it  seemed  really 
as  if  that  other  ship  was  an  airy,  yielding  thing, 
almost  without  weight  or  substance. 

And  then,  the  danger  being  past,  the  men  began 
to  laugh,  as  they  recognized  one  another. 

The  ^ Marie,’  ahoy  ! ” 

Holloa,  Gaos,  Laumec,  Guermeur  ! ” 

The  apparition  was  the  Reine  Berthe,”  Captain 
Larvoer,  also  of  Paimpol ; and  the  sailors  were 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  157 

from  the  outlying  villages.  That  big  fellow  there 
with  the  black  beard,  who  showed  his  teeth  when 
he  laughed,  was  Kerj^gou,  a native  of  Ploudaniel, 
and  the  others  were  from  Plounes  or  Plounerin.)( 

‘^Well,  why  didn’t  you  blow  your  fog-horn, 
you  crew  of  savages?”  demanded  Larvoer  of 
the  Reine  Berthe.” 

And  why  did  n’t  you,  you  pirates,  spongers 
and  scum  of  the  sea?” 

Oh  ! as  for  us,  that ’s  a different  matter.  We 
are  forbidden  to  make  any  noise.” 

He  made  this  reply  in  a manner  which  seemed 
to  imply  some  dark  mystery,  and  with  a strange 
smile  which  the  crew  of  the  Marie  ” often  after- 
ward recalled  and  pondered  over  long.  And 
then,  as  if  he  had  said  too  much,  he  ended  off 
with  a joke, — 

^^And  as  for  our  fog-horn,  that  fellow  over 
there  has  cracked  it  for  us  blowing  through  it.” 

And  he  pointed  to  a sailor  with  the  face  of  a 
Triton,  who  seemg^--^be..^.Tieck  and  chest,  with 
little  short  leg^ ^nd  something  inexpressibly  gro- 
tesque in  his  powerful  deformity. 

And  Vj^iie  they  lingered  there,  looking  at  one 
anothe^  waiting  for  some  breeze  or  current 
karate  them,  they  chatted  together.  They 
all  leaning  over  the  side,  still  holding  their 
^ng  poles,  looking  like  besiegers  with  their  pikes, 
while  they  talked  of  home  affairs,  the  last  letters 
brought  by  the  messenger  boats,  their  old  parents, 
and  their  wives. 


iS8 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


wife/^  said  Kerj^gou,  ^^has  written  me 
that  she  has  just  had  the  baby  we  were  expect- 
ing ; we  ’ll  have  a dozen  pretty  soon.” 

Another  one  had  had  twins ; and  a third  an- 
nounced the  marriage  of  pretty  Jeannie  Caroff, 
a girl  very  well  known  among  the  Icelanders, 
to  a certain  rich  old  dotard  of  the  parish  of 
Pleurivo. 

.They  sav/  one  another  as  if  through  white 
gauze,  and  their  voices  also  sounded  dull  and 
distant. 

But  Yann  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  one  of 
the  fishermen,  — a little  old  man  whom  he  had 
never  seen  anywhere  before,  and  who  never- 
theless spoke  to  him  directly,  saying,  Holloa, 
big  Yann ! ” with  the  air  of  an  intimate  ac- 
quaintance. He  was  as  irritatingly  ugly  as  a 
monkey,  and  had  the  same  malicious  twinkle  in 
his  sharp  eyes. 

Then  Larvoer,  of  the  Reine  Berthe,”  said, 
^^Thev  me  +he  death  of  old 


They  all  looked  at  him;  and  this  curiosii 


curiosity 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  159 

about  his  sorrow  annoyed  him.  The  questions 
flew  thick  and  fast  across  the  pale  mists  while 
the  moments  of  their  strange  encounter  were 
passing. 

‘‘My  wife  wrote  me  at  the  same  time/’  con- 
tinued Larvoer,  “ that  the  daughter  of  M.  M6vel 
has  left  the  town  to  live  at  Ploubazlanec,  and 
take  care  of  old  Mother  Moan,  her  great-aunt, 
and  that  she  has  begun  to  go  out  to  work  by  the 
day  to  earn  her  living.  It ’s  always  been  my 
opinion  that  she  is  a good  and  a brave  girl,  in 
spite  of  her  young-lady  airs  and  her  finery.  ” 

Then  they  all  looked  at  Yann  again,  which 
provoked  him  still  farther ; and  a red  flush  showed 
under  the  dark  tan  of  his  cheeks. 

With  this  praise  of  Gaud  was  ended  the  con- 
versation with  the  “ Reine  Berthe,”  which  no  liying 
being  ever  would  see  again. 

For  an  instant  their  vanishing  faces  showed 
dimly  in  the  fog  as  the  ships  drifted  slightly  apart, 
and  then  suddenly  the  crew  of  the  “ Marie  ” saw 
that  there  was  nothing  at  the  end  of  their  long 
poles.  Their  spars,  oars,  masts,  and  yards  trem- 
bled a moment  in  the  empty  air,  and  then  fell 
heavily  one  after  the  other  into  the  sea,  like  great 
lifeless  arms.  The  “ Reine  Berthe,”  plunging 
into  the  fog,  had  suddenly  and  completely  dis- 
/iappeared,  as  the  picture  fades  out  of  a trans- 
parency when  the  light  is  blown  out.  They  tried 
to  hail  her,  but  there  was  no  response  to  their 
calls,  except  a kind  of  mocking  clamor  as  of 


l6o  AIV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

many  voices,  ending  in  a groan  which  made  them 
turn  and  look  at  one  another  in  surprise. 

The  ‘‘  Reine  Berthe  did  not  come  back  with 
the  other  Iceland  boats,  and  as  the  crew  of  the 
Samuel- Azenide  ” came  across  a piece  of  wreck 
in  a fiord,  about  which  there  could  be  no  doubt,  — 
the  crown  on  her  stern  and  a piece  of  her  keel,  — 
they  gave  up  expecting  her ; and  after  the  month 
of  October  the  names  of  all  her  crew  were  in- 
scribed on  black  tablets  in  the  church. 

But  after  this  last  appearance,  whose  date  the 
crew  of  the  Marie  ” well  remembered,  until  the 
time  of  the  return,  there  had  been  no  bad  weather 
at  all  on  the  Iceland  sea,  while  on  the  other  hand, 
three  weeks  before,  a gale  from  the  west  had 
swept  away  several  sailors,  and  sunk  two  ships. 

And  they  called  to  mind  Larvoer’s  strange 
smile  ; and  putting  one  thing  with  another,  a great 
many  conjectures  were  made.  Yann  remembered 
more  than  once  by  night  the  sailor  with  the  evil 
monkey  eyes ; and  some  of  the  Marie’s  ” crew 
asked  themselves  timidly  if  on  that  morning  they 
had  not  been  talking  with  the  dead. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

The  summer  drew  on  to  a close ; and  the  end 
of  August,  with  its  early  morning  mists,  saw  the 
Icelanders  returning. 


I 

AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  l6l 

For  three  months  past,  the  two  lone  women 
had  lived  together  in  the  Moans’  cottage  at 
Ploubazlanec.  Gaud  had  taken  the  place  of  a 
daughter  in  this  poor  nest  of  lost  sailors.  She 
had  brought  with  her  all  that  had  been  left  her 
after  the  sale  of  her  father’s  house,  — her  pretty 
bed  with  its  curtains,  and  her  gowns  of  various 
colors.  She  had  made  herself  a new  black  dress, 
very  plain  and  simple,  and  wore  a mourning  cap 
of  thick  plaited  muslin,  like  old  Yvonne. 

She  went  out  to  sew  by  the  day  at  the  houses 
of  the  rich  people  of  the  town,  and  came  home 
at  night,  without  being  disturbed  by  any  imperti- 
nent admirers,  remaining  even  a little  haughty, 
and  being  still  treated  like  a young  lady,  the  lads 
of  the  village  touching  their  caps  to  her  as  she 
went  by,  as  they  had  always  done. 

In  the  lovely  summer  twilights,  as  she  came 
home  from  Paimpol,  she  would  v/alk  along  the 
cliff- path,  and  breathe  in  long  draughts  of  the 
quieting  sea-air.  Her  days  at  the  needle  had  not 
yet  impaired  her  beauty,  as  they  do  those  who 
spend  all  their  lives  bending  over  their  work ; and 
as  she  looked  off  over  the  sea,  she  drew  up  the 
beautiful  lithe  figure  which  she  had  inherited 
from  her  race,  gazing  off  over  that  ocean  on 
whose  mighty  depths  Yann  was  sailing. 

^ — ■ a'his  same  path  led  to  where  he  lived ; going 
on  a little  farther  toward  a certain  region, 
rockier  and  more  windswept  than  this,  one 
would  arrive  at  that  hamlet  of  Pors-Even,  where 


II 


i62 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


the  moss-covered  trees,  growh.^  small  between 
the  rocks,  bend  before  the  mighty  blasts  of  the 
west  wind.  She  would  probably  never  go  again 
to  Pors-Even,  — although  it  was  scarcely  a league 
away,  — but  she  had  been  there  once,  and  this 
visit  had  left  a charm  for  her  over  all  the  way. 

Besides,  Yann  must  often  pass  that  way,  and 
she  would  be  able  to  follow  him  from  the  door, 
coming  and  going  over  the  flat  country,  among 
the  low  furze-bushes.  And  so  she  loved  this 
whole  region  of  Ploubazlanec,  and  was  almost 
glad  that  fate  had  cast  her  there,  feeling  that  she 
could  better  endure  her  life  there  than  anywhere 
else. 

At  this  time  in  the  end  of  August,  there  is  a 
languid  feeling  in  the  air  which  seems  to  come 
northward  from  the  tropical  countries ; the  even- 
ings are  clear  and  bright,  and  reflections  from 
that  great  burning  sun  of  other  lands  fall  even 
upon  the  Breton  sea,  and  very  often  the  air  is 
still  and  clear  without  a cloud. 

At  the  time  Gaud  usually  returned  home  the 
day  was  melting  into  night,  and  things  began  to 
grow  indistinct  and  to  stand  out  darkly  against 
the  sky.  Here  and  there  a clump  of  furze  stood 
up  among  the  rocks  like  a bunch  of  rumpled 
feathers,  or  a group  of  gnarled  trees  f^’-med  a 
dark  mass  of  shadow  in  a hollow,  or  perhaps  a “ 
little  hut  with  a thatched  roof  raised  its  low 
dwarfed  silhouette  above  the  ground.  At  the 
crossways,  ancient  figures  of  Christ,  standing  guard 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  163 

over  the  land,  stretched  out  their  blackened  arms 
upon  their  crosses,  like  living  men  in  torture  ; and 
in  the  distance  the  waters  of  the  Channel  shone 
out  clear  and  distinct  like  a great  golden  mirror 
under  a sky  which  was  already  darkening  toward 
the  horizon. 

Even  the  fair  weather  and  the  calm  seem  mel- 
ancholy in  this  country,  for  there  always  remains 
a feeling  of  restlessness  over  all,  — an  anxiety 
which  comes  from  that  sea  to  which  so  many  lives 
are  confided,  and  whose  eternal  menace  is  but 
slumbering. 

As  Gaud  walked  dreamily  along,  she  found  her 
way  home  in  the  open  air  always  far  too  short ; 
the  salty  odor  of  the  beach  mingled  with  the 
sweet  fragrance  of  the  little  flowers  growing  along 
the  cliff  among  the  tall  gaunt  thistles,  and  if  it 
had  not  been  for  Grandmother  Yvonne,  who  was 
waiting  for  her  at  home,  she  would  have  willingly 
loitered  along  the  paths  among  the  furze,  like  the 
pretty  girls  who  love  to  dream  away  their  summer 
evenings  in  the  fields. 

And  as  she  walked  along  this  country  some 
memories  of  her  childhood  doubtless  came  to  her, 
but  now  everything  had  faded  away,  was  lost,  in- 
deed, and  forgotten  in  her  great  love. 

She  preferred  in  spite  of  everything  to  think  of 
¥ann  as  her  sweetheart,  — a lover  contemptuous 
and  untamed,  who  never  would  be  hers,  but  to 
whom  her  heart  remained  faithful  all  the  same, 
and  never  would  be  given  to  another.  For  the 


1 64  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

time  she  was  glad  to  know  that  he  was  in  Iceland  ; 
there  at  least,  the  sea  would  keep  him  in  her 
^ deep  cloisters,  and  he  could  not  belong  to  any 
one  else. 

One  of  these  days,  he  would  be  coming  back, 
she  knew ; but  she  contemplated  that  return  more 
calmly  than  before.  Instinctively  she  compre- 
hended that  her  poverty  would  not  make  him 
more  disdainful  of  her,  for  he  was  not  like  other 
men;  and  the  death  of  poor  little  Sylvestre  was 
certainly  a bond  of  sympathy  between  them. 
When  he  came  back  he  could  not  fail  to  come  to 
their  cottage  to  see  the  grandmother  of  his  friend  ; 
and  she  had  decided  that  she  would  be  there 
when  he  came.  It  did  not  seem  to  her  that  that 
would  be  undignified  ; and  without  appearing  con- 
scious of  the  past,  she  would  speak  to  him  like  an 
old  friend,  she  would  talk  with  him  even  affection- 
ately, as  to  Sylvestre’s  brother,  and  try  to  seem 
perfectly  natural.  And  who  knows?  she  might 
perhaps  even  take  the  place  of  a sister  to  him, 
now  that  she  was  so  alone  in  the  world,  might 
rely  upon  his  friendship,  asking  it  of  him  as  an 
aid  and  help,  speaking  clearly  enough  so  that  he 
could  not  think  she  had  any  thought  of  marriage 
behind  her  words.  She  thought  him  only  rude, 
with  his  obstinate  ideas  of  independence,  but 
frank  and  kind  and  capable  of  understand>-^j; 
what  was  spoken  from  the  heart.  What  would 
he  think  when  he  found  her  living  in  this  almost 
ruined  cottage,  and  so  poor?  Very  poor  indeed. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  165 

oh,  yes  ! — for  Grandmother  Moan,  being  no 
longer  able  to  work  all  day  at  the  laundry,  had 
nothing  left  her  now  but  her  widow's  pension ; it 
is  true  she  needed  very  little  to  eat  at  her  age, 
and  the  two  could  still  manage  so  as  not  to  have 
to  ask  any  favors  of  anybody. 

It  was  always  dark  when  Gaud  arrived  home ; 
before  entering  the  house,  one  had  to  go  down  a 
little  over  the  worn  stones,  as  the  cottage  was 
situated  just  below  the  Ploubazlanec  road,  on  a 
piece  of  ground  which  sloped  toward  the  shore. 
It  was  almost  hidden  under  a thick  roof  of  brown 
thatch,  all  sunken  in,  and  looking  like  the  back 
of  some  enormous  beast,  fallen  down  under  the 
weight  of  its  heavy  coat.  Its  walls  had  the  dull 
color  and  the  roughness  of  the  rocks,  with  moss 
and  lichens  growing  over  them  in  little  green  tufts  ; 
one  went  up  the  three  sunken  steps  leading  to  the 
threshold,  and  opened  the  inside  latch  of  the 
door  with  a bit  of  tarred  string  which  hung  out 
of  a hole. 

On  entering,  one  saw  first  of  all  the  dormer- 
window  cut  deeply  in  the  wail  as  if  in  the  thick- 
ness of  a rampart,  and  looking  toward  the  sea, 
through  which  came  a last  ray  of  pale  yellow 
light.  In  the  fireplace  were  burning  little  fra- 
grant bundles  of  pine  and  fir,  which  old  Yvonne 
collected  in  her  walks  along  the  paths ; and  she 
herself  was  seated  there  attending  to  their  little 
supper.  At  home  she  only  wore  a comb  in  her 
hair,  to  save  her  caps ; and  her  still  pretty  profile 


1 66  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

was  outlined  against  the  red  firelight.  As  Gaud 
entered,  the  old  woman  looked  up  with  eyes 
which  were  once  brown,  but  now  had  faded  to 
a dull  blue,  which  saw  clearly  no  longer,  but 
were  troubled,  wandering,  and  uncertain  with 
age ; and  she  always  made  the  same  remark,  — 

Dear  me,  my  girl,  how  late  you  are  this 
evening  ! 

Oh,  no.  Grandmother,’*  Gaud  pleasantly  re- 
plied, being  used  to  the  exclamation.  It ’s  no 
later  than  usual.” 

Ah,  it  seemed  to  me,  my  dear,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  it  was  later  than  usual.” 

They  took  their  supper  on  a table  which  was 
so  old  that  it  had  almost  lost  the  look  of  a table, 
but  was  still  as  solid  as  the  trunk  of  a great  oak ; 
and  the  cricket  never  failed  to  pipe  up  with  its 
little  silvery  noteD^One  of  the  sides  of  the  cot- 
tage was  occupied  by  rough  carvings  now  quite 
worm-eaten,  and  behind  them,  when  the  doors 
were  opened,  were  to  be  seen  the  cupboard-beds 
where  generations  of  sailors  had  been  born,  had 
slept,  and  where  their  old  mothers  had  died. 

From  the  black  rafters  hung  old  kitchen  uten- 
sils, bundles  of  herbs,  wooden  spoons,  smoked 
beef,  and  also  old  fishing-nets  which  had  been 
mouldering  there  since  the  last  Moan  sons  were 
shipwrecked ; so  that  Gaud’s  bed,  set  in  one  cor- 
ner, with  its  white  muslin  curtains,  looked  like 
a delicate  bit  of  luxury  brought  into  the  hut  of 
a Celt. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


167 


There  was  a photograph  of  Sylvestre  in  his 
sailor’s  uniform,  in  a frame  hanging  against  the 
granite  wall,  over  which  his  grandmother  had 
hung  his  military  medal,  with  a pair  of  red  cloth 
anchors,  such  as  sailors  wear  on  their  right  sleeves, 
and  which  had  been  his.  Gaud  had  also  bought 
one  of  those  mortuary  crowns  of  black  and  white 
pearl  beads,  such  as  are  put  around  the  portraits 
of  the  dead  in  Brittany ; and  that  was  his  little 
mausoleum,  — all  that  they  had  to  keep  his  mem- 
ory sacred  in  his  Breton  home. 

Gaud  and  Grandmother  Moan  went  to  bed 
early,  to  save  the  lights ; but  on  summer  evenings, 
when  the  weather  was  fine,  they  sat  out  for  a few 
moments  on  a stone  by  the  door,  and  watched  the 
passers-by  on  the  road,  a little  above  their  heads. 

Then  old  Yvonne  went  to  bed  in  her  wooden 
cupboard,  and  Gaud  in  her  own  pretty  bed,  where, 
having  worked  hard  and  walked  a long  way,  she 
fell  asleep  quite  soon,  and  dreamed  of  the  Ice- 
landers, but  like  a good,  brave  girl,  without 
troubling  herself  too  much  about  them. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

But  one  day  at  Paimpol,  hearing  that  the 
Marie  ” had  just  arrived.  Gaud  felt  herself  seized 
with  a kind  of  fever.  All  the  calm  with,  which  she 
had  awaited  its  return  suddenly  abandoned  her. 


i68 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


She  hurried  through  her  work,  without  knowing 
why  she  did  so,  and  started  homeward  earlier  than 
usual ; and  as  she  hastened  along  the  road,  she 
recognized  Yann  at  a distance  coming  toward  her. 

She  trembled  all  over,  and  could  scarcely 
stand.  He  was  already  quite  near,  coming  along 
hardly  twenty  feet  away  from  her,  with  his  magnif- 
icent figure,  and  his  curly  locks  under  his  fisher’s 
cap.  She  was  taken  so  unawares  by  this  encoun- 
ter that  she  really  was  afraid  he  would  perceive 
that  she  was  trembling,  and  she  would  have 
died  with  shame  if  he  had.  And  then  she  felt 
sure  that  her  hair  was  out  of  order,  and  that  she 
looked  tired,  from  having  hurried  v/ith  her  work. 
She  would  have  given  anything  to  be  able  to 
hide  under  a furze-bush  or  disappear  down  some 
marten-hole. 

And  then  he  too  started  back  a little,  as  if  to 
try  to  go  some  other  way.  But  it  was  too  late ; 
they  would  have  to  pass  each  other  in  the  narrow 
path.  He  threw  himself  against  the  bank,  to 
avoid  touching  her,  shying  like  a restive  horse, 
while  he  looked  furtively  at  her. 

She  too  for  half  a second  lifted  her  eyes, 
which  unconsciously  revealed  all  her  longing  and 
her  pain ; and  as  their  eyes  met  involuntarily  for 
an  instant,  her  violet  pupils  seemed  to  dilate, 
and  under  the  influence  of  her  deep  and  suddf^"^. 
emotion  seemed  almost  to  flash  fire,  while  her 
face  flushed  to  her  temples  under  the  roots  of  her 
golden  hair. 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  1 69 

As  he  touched  his  hat  he  said,  Good-day, 
Mademoiselle  Gaud.” 

Good-day,  Monsieur  Yann,”  she  replied,  and 
that  was  all ; it  was  over.  She  went  on  her  way, 
still  trembling,  but  feeling  the  blood  flowing  natu- 
rally again,  and  her  strength  returning,  the  farther 
he  departed. 

At  the  cottage  she  found  old  Mother  Moan  in 
a corner,  with  her  head  in  her  hands,  weeping 
and  crying  with  her  childish  hi,  hi,  hi  ! ” her  hair 
all  undone,  and  escaping  from  her  comb  like  a 
thin  skein  of  gray  hemp. 

Oh,  my  dear  Gaud  ! I met  young  Gaos  on 
the  road  to  Plouhersel,  just  as  I was  coming  back 
from  gathering  my  sticks ; and  we  talked  about 
my  grandson,  as  you  may  suppose.  They  only 
got  back  from  Iceland  this  morning,  and  he  had 
been  to  see  me  this  afternoon  while  I was  away. 
Poor  boy  ! there  were  tears  in  his  eyes  too ; and 
he  insisted  on  coming  all  the  way  back  with  me, 
dear  Gaud,  to  carry  my  little  bundle  of  sticks.” 

Gaud  listened  to  this,  standing,  while  her  heart 
grew  heavier  and  heavier.  So  this  visit  of  Yann 
on  which  she  had  counted  for  telling  him  so 
many  things,  was  already  paid,  and  probably 
never  would  be  repeated.  It  was  all  over.  And 
then  the  cottage  seemed  still  more  desolate,  and 
poverty  still  harder  to  bear,  and  the  world  so 
empty  that  she  bent  her  head  and  wished  that 
she  might  die. 


170 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

The  winter  came  on  little  by  little,  like  a 
slowly  dropping  winding-sheet,  and  cold  gray 
days  followed  cold  gray  days ; but  Yann  did  not 
appear  again,  and  the  two  women  lived  quite  de- 
serted and  alone. 

With  the  cold  of  the  winter  living  was  more 
expensive,  and  it  was  harder  to  get  along. 

And  then  old  Yvonne  became  very  difficult  to 
take  care  of ; she  lost  her  temper  easily,  and  said 
malicious  and  insulting  things.  The  fit  would  take 
her  once  or  twice  a week  like  a child,  and  for  no 
reason  whatever.  Poor  old  woman  ! she  was  still 
so  kind  and  sweet  on  her  sensible  days  that  Gaud 
did  not  cease  to  respect  and  care  for  her.  How 
strange  to  have  been  always  so  good,  and  end  by 
being  so  bad,  — to  reveal  in  her  last  hours  a depth 
of  malice  which  in  all  her  life  had  never  stirred, 
and  a whole  vocabulary  of  vulgar  words  which 
never  before  had  been  spoken  ! What  hidden 
mystery  was  here,  what  mockery  of  the  soul ! 

She  began  to  sing  too ; and  that  was  worse 
to  listen  to  than  her  anger  was  to  bear,  — things 
which  came  back  to  her  by  chance,  parts  of  the 

Oremus  in  the  Mass,  or  more  likely  some 
vulgar  couplets  which  she  had  heard  the  sailors 
singing  oil  the  quays  long  ago. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  I 7 1 

Sometimes  she  would  drone  out  the  Fillettes 
de  Paimpol,”  or  very  often,  nodding  her  head  and 
keeping  time  with  her  foot,  she  would  strike  up  : 

“ Mon  mari  vient  de  partir  ; 

Pour  la  peche  d’Islande,  mon.  mari  vient  de  partir, 

II  m’a  laissee  sans  le  sou ; 

Mais,  trala,  trala,  la  lou ! 

J’en  gagne ! 

J’en  gagne ! ” 

And  each  time  she  would  stop  quite  short, 
while  her  eyes  would  gaze  wide  open  into  va- 
cancy, and  then  all  look  of  life  would  fade  out 
of  them,  like  the  dying  flame  which  suddenly 
shoots  up  before  it  is  finally  extinguished.  And 
then  her  head  would  drop,  and  she  would  remain 
in  a stupid  state  for  a long  time,  with  her  mouth 
open  as  if  she  was  dead. 

Besides  all  this,  she  did  not  always  keep  herself 
very  clean  nowadays,  and  that  was  a kind  of  trial 
which  Gaud  had  not  counted  on. 

One  day  she  forgot  her  grandson.  Sylvestre, 
Sylvestre?  she  said  to  Gaud,  as  if  trying  to  re- 
member who  Sylvestre  could  be.  Oh,  Lord, 
my  dear,  you  see  I had  so  many  when  I was 
young,  boys  and  girls,  and  girls  and  boys,  that 
now,  really,  you  know  — ” 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  threw  out  her  poor 
w ‘ ^ Ld  hard  with  a gesture  which  was  almost 
vulgar. 

And  then  the  next  day,  on  the  contrary,  she  re- 
membered him  perfectly,  relating  a thousand  lit- 


172  AN  ICELAND  F/SHEEMAN. 

tie  things  that  he  had  done  or  said,  and  weeping 
for  him  all  day  long. 

Oh,  those  winter  evenings  ! — when  they  had  no 
wood  to  make  up  the  fire,  when  Gaud  would  sew 
on  while  she  was  almost  freezing,  to  finish  before 
she  went  to  bed  the  work  she  brought  home  with 
her  every  evening. 

Grandmother  Yvonne,  the  while,  would  sit 
quietly  in  the  chimney-corner,  with  her  feet  on 
the  last  dying  embers,  her  hands  folded  under 
her  apron.  But  she  had  to  be  talked  to  in  the 
beginning  of  the  evening. 

You  never  have  anything  to  tell  me,  my  dear. 
Why  not?  In  my  time  I knew  many  a girl  of 
your  age  who  knew  hov/  to  talk ; and  it  seems  to 
me  we  would  not  be  so  gloomy  here,  we  two,  if 
you  would  only  say  something  nice  once  in  a 
while.” 

And  then  Gaud  would  relate  whatever  news  she 
had  heard  in  town,  or  would  tell  the  old  woman 
the  names  of  the  people  she  had  met  on  the 
road,  talking  of  things  which  were  indifferent  to 
herself,  as  in  fact  everything  was  now,  stopping 
in  the  middle  of  her  stories  when  she  saw  that 
the  poor  old  woman  had  fallen  asleep. 

There  was  nothing  joyous,  nothing  young  about 
the  girl  whose  blooming  youth  longed  so  for 
youth  like  to  itself.  Her  beauty  would  '' 
in  solitude  and  neglect. 

The  sea-breeze  which  blew  in  at  every  crack 
made  the  flame  of  the  lamp  flicker ; and  the  sound 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  173 

of  the  waves  was  heard  there  as  plainly  as  if  on 
board  ship.  With  this  sound  was  associated  the 
sad  thought  of  Yann  which  was  always  present  to 
her,  as  the  sea  was  his  special  domain  ; and  during 
the  terrible  nights  of  storm,  when  everything 
seemed  let  loose,  and  a mighty  clamor  reigned 
in  the  darkness  outside,  she  thought  of  him  with 
anguish. 

Ever  alone  there  with  this  sleeping  old  woman. 
Gaud  sometimes  was  afraid,  and  peered  into  the 
dark  corners,  thinking  of  all  those  sailors,  her  an- 
cestors, who  had  slept  in  those  beds  in  the  wall 
and  had  been  lost  at  sea  on  nights  like  these,  and 
whose  spirits  might  return.  She  did  not  feel  at 
all  protected  from  these  visits  by  the  presence  of 
the  old  woman  who  was  already  so  nearly  one  of 
them.  Suddenly  she  would  tremble  all  over  from 
head  to  foot,  as  she  heard  coming  from  out  the 
chimney-corner  a little  thread  of  a voice,  thin 
and  weak  as  if  issuing  from  under  ground,  and  in 
a mocking  tone  which  froze  her  blood.  The 
voice  sang,  — 

“Pour  la  peche  d’Islande,  mon  mari  vient  de  partir; 

II  m’a  laissee  sans  le  sou  ; 

Mais  trala,  trala,  la  lou  ! ” 

And  then  she  felt  that  kind  of  terror  one  has 
in  the  presence  of  the  insane. 

The  rain  kept  pouring,  pouring,  like  the  con- 
tinual running  of  a fountain,  trickling  ceaselessly 
down  the  walls  outside  j and  from  leaks  in  the  old 
mossy  roof  drops  kept  falling  through,  always  in 


174 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


the  same  spot,  ceaselessly,  monotonously,  with 
the  same  melancholy  drip,  drip,  drip,  making 
wet  places  on  the  floor  of  the  cottage,  which  was 
composed  of  rocks  and  earth  beaten  in  with 
gravel  and  shells.  She  felt  the  water  all  around. 
It  seemed  to  envelop  and  shut  one  in ; and  as  the 
wind  tormented  it,  and  lashed  and  blew  it  into 
mist,  making  the  dark  night  blacker  still,  it  seemed 
to  isolate  even  more  completely  from  one  another 
the  lonely  scattered  cottages  of  Ploubazlanec. 

Sunday  evenings  were  worse  for  Gaud  than 
others,  on  account  of  the  gayety  that  reigned  else- 
where ; there  were  happy  little  parties  even  in 
these  lonely  hamlets  on  the  shore,  when  one  or 
another  of  the  little  cottages,  shut  up  and  lashed 
by  the  black  rain,  was  always  lighted  up,  and  rang 
with  the  sound  of  sailors^  choruses. 

Inside,  tables  were  arranged  for  drinking,  fish- 
ermen were  drying  themselves  by  the  smoky  fire, 
the  old  fellows  contentedly  sipping  their  brandy 
and  water,  the  young  ones  courting  the  girls,  and 
all  getting  drunk  and  singing  loud  enough  to 
raise  the  roof.  And  near  to  them,  the  sea,  which 
\ might  be  their  grave  to-morrow,  was  singing  too, 
and  filling  the  night  with  her  mighty  voice. 

Sometimes  on  Sundays,  companies  of  young 
men,  coming  out  of  the  wine- shops,  on  returning 
from  Paimpol  would  pass  along  the  road  near  the 
door  of  the  Moans’  cottage,  — those  who  lived  at 
the  other  end  of  the  district  toward  Pors-Even. 
They  went  by  very  late,  caring  little  about  getting 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  I 75 

wet,  being  used  to  waves  and  storms.  Gaud  lis- 
tened to  their  shouts  and  songs,  which  were 
quickly  drowned  in  the  sound  of  the  gale  or  the 
surf,  trying  to  make  out  Yann’s  voice,  and  trem- 
bling when  she  thought  she  recognized  it. 

It  was  unkind  of  Yann  not  to  come  to  see  them 
again,  and  to  lead  such  a gay  life  so  soon  after 
Sylvestre’s  death ; it  was  not  like  him.  No ; 
she  certainly  did  not  understand  it.  But  in  spite 
of  everything  she  could  not  believe  that  he  was 
quite  heartless,  and  she  could  not  forget  him. 

The  fact  was  that  since  his  return  he  had  led  a 
very  dissipated  life.  In  the  first  place,  they  had 
made  the  usual  run  do^vn  into  the  Gulf  of  Gas- 
cogne, which  is  always  a time  of  pleasure  for  the 
Icelanders,  — a time  when  they  have  a little  money 
in  their  pockets  to  spend  as  they  choose  (a  small 
advance  which  their  captains  make  them  on  their 
share  of  the  fishing,  which  is  not  payable  until 
the  winter). 

They  go  dowm  there  every  year  to  get  salt 
among  the  islands ; and  he  had  taken  up  an  old 
affair  with  a pretty  dark  girl  of  Saint-Martin-de- 
Pre,  — a sweetheart  of  the  autumn  before.  To- 
gether they  wandered,  during  these  last  sunny 
days,  among  the  purple  vineyards,  filled  with  the 
song  of  the  larks,  the  perfume  of  ripe  grapes, 
— ocean  pinks,  and  the  sea  odors  from  the  beach ; 
together  they  sang  and  danced  during  the  moon- 
light evenings  of  the  vintage  in  a gay  and  brief 
intoxication  of  love-making  and  new  wine.  And 


176  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

then  the  Marie  ” having  gone  into  Bordeaux,  he 
found  again  in  a caf^  chantant,  all  decorated  with 
gold,  the  pretty  singer  who  had  given  him  the 
watch,  and  lazily  let  himself  be  adored  for  another 
week’s  time. 

When  he  came  back  to  Brittany  in  October,  he 
had  stood  up  at  the  weddings  of  several  of  his 
friends,  always  dressed  in  his  holiday  clothes,  and 
had  often  been  drunk,  after  midnight,  at  the  end 
of  the  balls  which  followed.  Every  v/eek  he  had 
some  new  adventure,  which  the  girls  took  pains  to 
relate  to  Gaud  with  exaggerated  details. 

Three  or  four  times  she  had  seen  him  at  a dis- 
tance coming  toward  her,  but  always  in  time  to 
avoid  him  ; and  he  also  at  these  times  turned  and 
took  his  way  across  the  fields.  By  a silent  under- 
standing they  avoided  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

At  Paimpol  there  lived  a fat  woman  called 
Madame  Tressoleur.  She  kept  a wine-shop 
which  was  most  popular  among  the  Icelanders, 
in  one  of  the  streets  which  leads  to  the  harbor, 
where  captains  and  ship-owners  came  to  engage 
their  crews,  picking  out  the  best  of  the  sailors 
as  they  drank  together. 

She  had  been  pretty  once,  and  was  still  a great 
favorite  with  the  fishermen,  though  now  she  had 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


177 


a mustache,  the  manners  of  a man,  and  a very 
sharp  tongue.  She  looked  like  a sutler  with 
a big'  white  muslin  cap ; and  she  was  religious 
after  her  own  fashion,  having  been  born  a Bre- 
tonne.  She  kept  the  names  of  all  the  sailors  in 
the  country  in  her  head,  as  if  they  were  written 
on  a register;  she  knew  those  who  were  good 
and  those  who  were  useless,  and  kept  the  run 
of  what  they  earned  and  what  each  one  was 
worth. 

One  January  day,  having  been  sent  for  to  make 
Madame  Tressoleur  a dress.  Gaud  went  there  to 
work  in  a room  behind  the  saloon. 

The  entrance  to  Dame  Tressoleur’s  shop  was 
through  a door  with  massive  granite  posts,  which 
were  set  back  under  the  first  floor  of  the  house, 
in  an  old-fashioned  way ; and  when  one  opened 
the  door  there  was  always  some  gust  blowing  in 
from  the  street  which  slammed  it  to,  and  those 
who  entered  rushed  in  suddenly,  as  if  cast  up  by 
the  surf.  The  room  was  low  and  deep,  white- 
washed, and  adorned  with  pictures  in  gilt  frames 
representing  ships,  sea-fights,  and  shipwrecks ; 
and  a china  Virgin  was  set  upon  a bracket  in 
a corner  surrounded  by  artificial  flowers. 

These  old  walls  had  listened  to  the  sound  of 
many  a sailor's  ringing  song,  and  had  seen  much 
boisterous  gayety  since  the  old  days  in  Paimpol, 
from  the  exciting  time  of  the  pirates  up  to  the 
present  generation  of  Icelanders,  who  differ  very 
little  from  their  ancestors;  and  many  a man’s 


12 


lyS  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

life  had  been  staked  and  the  contracts  signed  on 
those  oaken  tables  in  intervals  of  drunkenness. 

While  she  sewed  on  the  dress,  Gaud  listened 
to  the  conversation  which  was  going  on,  on  the 
other  side  of  the  partition,  between  Dame  Tresso- 
leur  and  two  retired  sailors  who  were  sitting  there 
drinking. 

These  old  salts  were  discussing  a certain  beau- 
tiful new  boat  which  was  just  being  fitted  out  in 
port.  She  would  never  be  ready  in  time  for  the 
next  season,  this  Leopoldine.” 

Oh,  yes,’'  replied  the  hostess,  she  will ; she  ’ll 
be  ready  sure  enough.  I can  tell  you  all  about 
it,  for  her  crew  was  picked  out  here  yesterday,  — 
all  the  men  of  Guermeur’s  old  ‘ Marie,’  which  they 
are  going  to  sell  to  be  broken  up.  Five  young  fel- 
lows were  engaged  just  over  there,  before  my  eyes, 
at  that  table.  And  they  signed  with  my  pen,  — 
so  ; and  five  fine  fellows  they  are,  I can  tell  you,  — 
Laumec,  Tugdual  Caroff,  Yvon  Duff,  young  Keraez 
of  Tr^guier,  and  that  great  Yann  Gaos,  who ’s 
worth  any  three  of  them.” 

The  Leopoldine  ” — that  name  which  she  had 
just  caught,  of  the  boat  which  was  to  carry  Yann 
away  — struck  into  Gaud’s  memory  as  if  it  had 
been  ineffaceably  stamped  there  with  the  blow  of 
a hammer.  And  that  evening,  when  she  was  back 
at  Ploubazlanec,  seated  by  the  little  lamp  finishing 
her  work,  the  name  kept  running  in  her  head,  and 
its  very  sound  seemed  to  have  something  fore- 
boding in  it.  ^ 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


179 


The  names  of  persons  and  also  those  of  ships 
have  a look  and  almost  a character  of  their  own ; 
and  the  Leopoldine”  — name  new  and  unfamiliar 
to  her,  — haunted  her  with  an  almost  unnatural 
persistency,  becoming  a sort  of  gloomy  obsession. 
No ; she  had  expected  to  see  Yann  going  off 
again  on  the  Marie, which  she  had  once  visited 
and  knew  all  about,  and  whose  Virgin  had  pro- 
tected it  during  long  years  of  dangerous  voyages. 
And  so  this  change  to  a new  boat,  this  Leopol- 
dine,”  made  her  the  more  apprehensive.  But  soon 
she  began  to  say  to  herself  that  it  made  no  differ- 
ence, to  her,  and  that  nothing  which  concerned 
him  could  ever  affect  her  again  j and  indeed,  what 
could  it  matter  to  her  whether  he  was  on  this 
ship  or  another,  here  or  elsewhere?  Was  she 
more  unhappy,  or  less,  when  he  was  in  Iceland, 
and  summer  reigned  again  over  the  deserted 
cottages  and  these  lonely,  restless  women,  or 
when  a new  autumn  came  bringing  the  fishermen 
back  again  once  more?  It  was  all  indifferent 
to  her,  — all  equally  without  hope  or  joy.  There 
was  no  longer  any  bond  between  them,  or  any- 
thing to  bring  them  together,  since  he  had  even 
forgotten  all  about  poor  little  Sylvestre.  She 
must  make  up  her  mind  that  the  one  dream, 
the  one  desire  of  her  life,  was  over  forever;  she 
must  forget  Yann  and  everything  which  concerned 
him,  even  this  name  of  Iceland,  which  had  such 
a melancholy  charm  for  her  ears  on  his  account. 
She  must  drive  away  these  thoughts,  banish  them 


i8o 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


completely,  and  tell  herself  it  was  finished,  done 
with  forever. 

She  looked  tenderly  at  the  poor  old  woman  as 
she  lay  asleep ; she  still  had  need  of  her,  but  she 
could  not  live  much  longer.  And  afterward,  what 
use  would  it  be  for  her  to  work,  or  even  try  to 
live? 

The  west  wind  was  rising  outside  ; and  mingling 
with  the  sound  of  its  distant  sobbing,  could  be 
heard  the  quiet  dropping  of  the  rain  from  the 
roof. 

And  then  Gaud’s  tears  began  to  fall  as  she 
thought  of  her  deserted  state,  — without  father 
or  mother,  or  any  one  to  care  for  her,  — flowing 
over  her  lips  with  a bitter  taste,  dropping  silently 
on  her  work  like  a quiet  summer  rain  which  falls 
quickly  and  heavily  from  the  overcharged  clouds. 
And  then,  as  she  could  see  to  work  no  longer, 
she  folded  up  Dame  Tressoleur’s  ample  corsage 
and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  shivering  as  she  threw 
herself  into  her  poor,  pretty  bed ; for  it  too  was 
getting  damper  and  colder  every  day,  like  every- 
thing else  in  the  cottage.  But  as  she  was  very 
young,  even  with  all  her  tears  she  finally  became 
warm  and  fell  asleep. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


i8i 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

Several  dull  weeks  went  by.  It  was  already 
February;  and  the  weather  was  quite  fair  and 
mild. 

Yann  was  just  coming  out  of  the  ship-broker’s, 
where  he  had  received  his  share  of  the  last  sea- 
son’s fishing,  amounting  to  fifteen  hundred  francs, 
which  he  was  taking  to  his  mother,  according  to 
the  custom  of  the  family.  The  year  had  been  a 
good  one ; and  he  was  going  home  satisfied. 

Near  Ploubazlanec  he  saw  a group  gathered  at 
the  edge  of  the  road,  — an  old  woman  shaking  her 
stick,  and  around  her  a crowd  of  mischievous 
little  street-boys,  making  fun  of  her.  It  was 
Grandmother  Moan,  the  dear  grandmother  whom 
Sylvestre  had  so  loved,  — all  ragged  and  torn,  and 
become  one  of  those  poverty-stricken  old  imbe- 
ciles whom  the  children  run  after  in  the  street; 
and  it  made  him  feel  terribly. 

The  ragamuffins  of  Ploubazlanec  had  killed  her 
cat ; and  she  was  shaking  her  stick  at  them  in  an- 
ger and  despair. 

Oh,  if  my  poor  boy  had  only  been  here, 
you  never  would  have  dared  to  do  it,  you  little 
scoundrels  ! ” 

She  had  fallen,  it  appeared,  as  she  ran  after 
them  ; her  cap  was  all  on  one  side  ; her  dress  was 


i82 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


covered  with  mud ; and  they  were  saying  again 
that  she  was  drunk,  which  often  happens  in  Brit- 
tany to  unfortunate  old  women  such  as  she. 

Yann  knew  very  well  that  it  was  not  true,  and 
that  she  had  always  been  a respectable  old  wo- 
man, and  never  drank  anything  but  water. 

‘^You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourselves,”  he 
said  angrily  to  the  urchins,  in  a voice  and  tone 
which  frightened  them. 

And  quick  as  a wink  they  took  to  their  heels, 
ashamed  and  scared  before  the  Great  Gaos.” 
Gaud,  who  was  just  returning  from  Paimpol,  car- 
rying her  work  for  the  evening,  had  seen  from  a 
distance  that  something  was  the  matter,  and  came 
running  up  to  find  out  what  had  happened  to  her 
grandmother,  and  what  anybody  could  be  doing 
to  her,  understanding  it  all  when  she  saw  her  cat, 
which  they  had  killed. 

She  lifted  her  clear  eyes  to  Yann,  who  did  not 
turn  his  away.  They  did  not  think  of  avoiding 
each  other  this  time  ; they  only  blushed  very  red, 
both  of  them,  he  as  quickly  as  she,  with  the  same 
flushing  cheeks,  and  looked  at  each  other  a little 
startled  at  being  so  near  together,  but  with  no  ill 
feeling,  almost  affectionately,  united  as  they  were 
in  one  common  impulse  of  pity  and  protection. 

The  school-children  had  long  been  looking  out 
for  a chance  to  kill  the  poor  cat,  because  it  had  a 
black  face  and  looked  like  an  imp,  although  it  was 
in  fact  a very  good  cat,  which,  if  you  regarded  it 
closely,  was  really  quite  good-natured  and  playful. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  183 

They  had  stoned  it  to  death,  and  it  was  a pitiable 
sight  to  behold.  The  poor  old  woman,  still  mum- 
bling out  her  threats,  started  off,  all  shaken  and 
tottering,  carrying  her  cat  by  the  tail,  like  a rabbit. 

Oh,  my  poor  boy,  my  poor  boy  ! if  he  were 
only  alive,  they ’d  never  dare  to  treat  me  so,  — 
no,  never  ! ” 

Her  tears  ran  down  the  wrinkles  of  her  poor 
old  face,  and  her  hands,  with  their  big  blue  veins, 
trembled  with  excitement. 

Gaud  stopped  in  the  middle  of  the  road  to 
arrange  the  old  woman’s  cap,  and  tried  to  com- 
fort and  console  her. 

Yann  was  very  indignant.  How  could  children 
be  so  wicked  as  to  treat  a poor  old  woman  so  ? 
The  tears  almost  filled  his  own  eyes  for  pity. 
Not  for  the  cat,  of  course,  for  men  of  his  kind 
rather  like  to  torment  animals,  and  have  no  sensi- 
bility for  their  sufferings ; but  his  heart  was  filled 
with  sympathy  as  he  walked  along  behind  the 
poor  childish  old  woman,  carrying  her  cat  by  the 
tail.  He  thought  of  Sylvestre,  whom  he  had 
really  loved  so  dearly,  and  of  his  grief  if  he  could 
only  have  foreseen  that  she  would  end  her  days 
thus  in  wretchedness  and  derision. 

Gaud  apologized  for  her  as  if  she  were  respon- 
sible for  her  appearance. 

It ’s  because  she  has  fallen  that  she  is  so 
dirty,”  she  said  in  a low  voice.  ‘‘Her  dress  is 
no  longer  very  new,  it ’s  true,  for  we  are  not  rich. 
Monsieur  Yann  ; but  I mended  it  myself  yesterday, 


1 84  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

and  when  I left  her  this  morning  I saw  that  she 
was  clean  and  in  order.” 

He  looked  long  at  her,  much  more  touched, 
perhaps,  by  this  simple  little  explanation  than  he 
could  have  been  by  glib  phrases,  tears,  or  re- 
proaches. They  went  on  walking  side  by  side  as 
they  neared  the  Moans’  cottage.  He  knew  very 
well  that  there  never  had  been  anybody  so  pretty 
as  she  ; but  it  seemed  to  him  that  her  poverty  and 
her  mourning  had  made  her  more  beautiful  than 
ever.  Her  manner  was  graver,  and  her  violet 
eyes  still  more  reserved,  and  yet  they  seemed  to 
look  into  one’s  very  soul.  Her  figure  too  was 
still  more  perfectly  developed  ; she  would  soon  be 
twenty-three,  and  was  in  the  full  bloom  of  her 
beauty.  And  then  she  was  dressed  now  more 
like  the  daughter  of  a fisherman,  with  her  simple 
black  gown  and  her  little  cap.  And  that  distin- 
guished air  she  had,  he  could  not  tell  where  it 
came  from ; it  was  something  innate  and  uncon- 
scious, with  which  he  could  no  longer  reproach 
her.  Perhaps  her  dress,  a little  more  carefully 
arranged  than  that  of  others,  and  defining  her 
beautiful  arms  and  shoulders,  made  the  dilfer- 
ence.  But  no,  it  was  more  in  her  look  and  in 
her  quiet  voice. 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


iss 


CHAPTER  XVIL 

Yann  was  really  going  along  with  them, — 
possibly  all  the  way  to  their  home. 

They  all  three  walked  along  together ; and  it 
began  to  look  comical  to  see  them  passing  sol- 
emnly along,  like  the  funeral  cortege  of  the  cat. 
The  people  at  the  doors  smiled  as  they  saw  them. 
In  the  middle  marched  old  Yvonne,  carrying  the 
cat.  Gaud  at  her  right,  blushing  and  excited,  and 
the  great  Yann  on  the  left,  walking  along  thought- 
fully, with  his  head  in  the  air.  But  the  poor  old 
woman  had  suddenly  calmed  down  on  the  \\^ay. 
Now  that  her  cap  was  set  straight,  she  felt  more 
like  herself;  and  without  speaking,  she  began  to 
look  first  at  one  and  then  at  the  other  out  of  the 
corner  of  her  eye,  which  had  become  quite  clear 
again.. 

Gaud  said  nothing  more,  for  fear  of  giving 
Yanni^n  opportunity  of  taking  his  leave.  She 
would  have  wished  to  dwell  on  the  memory  of 
that  pleasant  look  he  had  given  her,  to  walk  along 
with  eyes  closed  to  everything  else,  to  walk  thus 
at  his . side  forever,  lost  in  a dream ; instead  of 
which,  they  would  reach  their  lonely,  desolate  home 
all  too  soon,  and  then  it  would  be  over  forever. 

At  the  door  there  was  one  of  those  moments 
of  indecision  during  which  the  heart  seems  to 


i86 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


Stop  beating.  First  Grandmother  Yvonne  walked 
in,  without  turning  her  head ; then  Gaud  followed 
her  hesitatingly ; then  Yann  came  in  also. 

He  was  under  their  roof  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  — without  any  particular  reason,  prob- 
ably ; for  what  reason  could  he  have  ? As  he 
crossed  the  threshold,  he  touched  his  hat,  and  as 
his  eyes  fell  on  the  portrait  of  Sylvestre,  with  its 
little  mourning  wreath  of  black  pearls,  he  went 
slowly  up  to  it,  as  if  approaching  'a  tomb. 

Gaud  remained  standing,  resting  her  hands  on 
the  table  ; and  as  Yann  began  to  look  around,  her 
eyes  followed  his  as  he  silently  noticed  their  poor 
surroundings.  And  in  spite  of  its  clean  and  re- 
pectable  appearance,  this  place,  where  the  two 
deserted  women  had  taken  shelter  together,  was 
poor  indeed. 

Perhaps  he  might  feel  a little  kindly  pity  for 
her  at  least,  to  see  her  brought  almost  to  want 
in  this  time-worn,  granite  hut.  There  was  noth- 
ing left  of  her  past  riches  but  the  pretty  white 
bed,  and  Yann’s  eyes  involuntarily  turned  to  it. 

He  did  not  speak;  what  was  he  staying  for? 
The  old  grandmother,  who  was  still  sharp  enough 
in  her  lucid  moments,  pretended  not  to  no- 
tice him ; and  so  they  stood  there,  facing  each 
other,  mute  and  anxious,  finally  gazing  into  each 
other’s  eyes  as  if  to  ask  some  momentous  ques- 
tion. But  the  moments  passed ; and  as  each 
instant  fled,  their  silence  grew  more  and  nore 
constrained.  And  still  more  deeply  and  ear  lestly 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


187 


did  they  regard  each  other,  as  if  in  solemn  wait- 
ing for  something  unspeakable  which  tarried  long 
in  coming. 

Gaud,”  said  he,  in  a low,  earnest  voice,  ‘Gf 
you  are  still  willing  — ” What  was  he  going  to 
say?  Had  he  made  up  his  mind  suddenly,  as 
usual,  and  as  he  stood  there  taken  some  great 
resolution  which  he  hardly  dared  express? 

If  you  are  still  willing  — The  fish  have  sold 
well  this  season,  and  I have  a little  money 
ahead  — ” 

If  she  was  still  willing?  What  was  he  asking 
of  her?  Had  she  heard  aright?  She  was  struck 
dumb  by  all  she  felt  his  words  implied. 

And  old  Yvonne,  over  in  her  corner,  lis- 
tened, for  she  thought  she  heard  happiness  draw 
nigh. 

We  might  get  married.  Mademoiselle  Gaud, 
if  you  are  still  willing.” 

And  then  he  waited  for  her  reply,  which  came 
not.  What  was  preventing  her  from  uttering  that 
<^Yes”?  He  was  surprised  and  anxious,  and 
she  saw  it.  Leaning  with  her  two  hands  on  the 
table,  she  had  turned  perfectly  white,  and  spoke 
not,  and  with  her  drooping  eyes  looked  lovely, 
but  almost  fainting. 

‘^Well,  Gaud,  why  don^t  you  answer?”  said 
the  old  woman,  who  had  risen  and  came  toward 
them.  You  see.  Monsieur  Yann,  it  has  sur- 
prised her.  You  must  excuse  her ; she  will  think 
about  it,  and  answer  you  by  and  by.  Sit  down. 


r 

1 88  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

Monsieur  Yann,  and  take  a glass  of  cider  with 
us.” 

But  no ; Gaud  could  not  reply.  No  words 
would  come  to  her  in  her  rapture.  It  was  true, 
then,  that  he  was  good,  and  that  he  did  have  a 
heart.  She  had  found  him  again, — her  real  Yann 
such  as  she  never  had  ceased  to  believe  him,  in 
spite  of  his  relentlessness,  his  rude  refusal,  in 
spite  of  everything.  Long  time  he  had  disdained 
her;  now  he  accepted  her,  — now  that  she  was 
poor,  that  was  doubtless  his  idea.  He  had  had 
some  notion  which  she  would  know  of  by  and  by. 
At  this  moment  she  did  not  think  of  calling  him 
to  account,  or  of  reproaching  him,  for  her  two 
years  of  unhappiness.  And  besides,  it  was  lost 
and  forgotten  in  an  instant,  in  the  delicious  whirl- 
wind of  emotion  which  swept  over  her  life.  She 
still  spoke  no  word,  only  telling  him  her  adora- 
tion with  her  swimming  eyes,  which  looked  deep 
into  his,  while  the  great  tears  began  to  fall  down 
her  cheeks. 

So  ! God  bless  you,  my  children  ! ” said 
Grandmother  Moan ; ‘‘  and  I am  very  grateful 
to  him,  for  now  I am  glad  that  I have  lived  to 
be  so  old,  to  have  seen  this  before  I die.” 

There  they  stood,  still  facing  each  other,  with 
clasped  hands,  finding  no  words  with  which  to 
speak  to  each  other,  — knowing  nothing  sweet 
enough,  no  phrase  to  express  their  feelings,  none 
which  they  deemed  worthy  to  break  that  exqui- 
site silence. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  189 

Kiss  each  other,  at  least,  my  children.  Why  ! 
they  don’t  say  a word.  Dear  me  ! what  queer  chil- 
dren I have,  to  be  sure  ! Come,  Gaud,  say  some- 
thing to  him,  my  dear.  In  my  time,  it  seemed 
to  me,  we  kissed  each  other  when  we  were  en-  4 
gaged.”  I 

Yann  took  off  his  cap,  as  if  seized  with  some  | 
unaccustomed  feeling  of  respect,  before  bending  j 
to  kiss  Gaud ; and  it  seemed  to  him  that  it  was  j 
the  first  real  kiss  he  ever  had  given  in  his  life,  f 
She  also  kissed  him,  with  all  her  heart,  pressing  I 
her  fresh  young  lips  to  the  sun-tanned  cheek  of  | 
her  lover.  And  from  between  the  stones  of  the  > 
wall  the  cricket  chirped  up  its  merry  song  of  | 
happiness,  and  this  time,  by  chance,  it  was  right,  i 
And  the  poor  little  picture  of  Sylvestre  seemed  : 
to  smile  on  them  from  out  its  mourning  wreath. 
Everything  seemed  to  be  suddenly  revived  and 
rejuvenated  in  the  lifeless  cottage.  The  silence 
was  filled  with  unuttered  music ; even  the  pale  j 
winter’s  twilight  which  fell  in  through  the  window  j 
seemed  like  some  magic  light. 

So  it  will  be  after  he  gets  back  from  Iceland, 

I suppose,  dear  children.” 

Gaud  bent  her  head.  Iceland,  the  Leopol- 
dine,”  she  had  forgotten  those  terrors  in  her  way. 

Gets  back  from  Iceland  ! ” Oh,  how  long  it 
would  seem,  — one  more  whole  summer  of  anxious 
waiting  ! 

And  Yann,  tapping  the  ground  rapidly  with  his 


190  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

foot,  seemed  suddenly  to  be  in  a great  hurry  too, 
and  was  counting  up  very  fast,  to  see  if  by  hasten- 
ing things  along  there  would  not  be  time  for 
them  to  get  married  before  he  left.  So  many 
days  to  get  out  the  papers,  so  many  days  for 
publishing  the  banns  in  church.  Yes,  that  would 
only  bring  them  up  to  the  20th  or  25  th  for  the 
wedding,  and  then,  if  nothing  interfered,  there 
still  would  be  one  whole  week  for  them  to  be 
together. 

The  first  thing  I must  do  is  to  go  and  tell  my 
father,’’  he  said  with  as  much  haste  as  if  the  very 
moments  of  their  lives  had  become  measured  and 
precious. 


PART  IV. 

CHAPTER  I. 

N the  Breton  country  lovers  always  like 
to  sit  outdoors  at  night-fall  on  the 
benches  by  the  cottage  doors. 

Yann  and  Gaud  followed  this  cus- 
tom too,  and  every  night  at  the  door  of  the  Moan 
cottage  on  an  old  granite  bench  they  sat  together 
making  love. 

Others  have  the  springtime,  the  shadows  of  the 
trees,  mild  evenings,  and  flowering  roses.  They 
had  nothing  but  these  February  twilights  falling 
over  a sea-girt  land  of  rocks  and  furze.  No  green 
branches  waved  above  and  around  them ; there 
was  naught  but  the  mighty  heavens  filled  with 
floating  mists,  and  for  flowers,  brown  seaweeds 
which  the  fishermen  dragged  up  over  the  path  as 
they  brought  their  nets  up  from  the  beach. 

The  winters  are  not  severe  in  this  part  of  the 
world,  which  is  warmed  by  the  Gulf  Stream,  but 
still  the  twilights  were  very  often  damp  and  chilly, 


192 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


and  an  imperceptible  moisture  gathered  upon 
their  shoulders. 

They  lingered  there  nevertheless,  being  quite 
content ; and  the  old  bench,  which  had  seen  a 
century  pass  by,  was  not  astonished  at  this  love- 
making,  having  seen  many  another  like  it.  From 
generation  to  generation  it  had  heard  the  same 
sweet  words  from  the  lips  of  the  young,  and  had 
seen  these  same  lovers  returning  later,  tottering 
old  men  and  women,  to  sit  in  this  same  place, 
but  always  in  the  daytime,  to  catch  a breath  of 
air,  and  warm  themselves  in  their  last  sunshine. 
Once  in  a while  Grandmother  Moan  would  put 
her  head  out  of  the  window  to  have  a look  at 
them,  not  because  she  was  curious,  but  out  of 
affection,  just  for  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them, 
and  also  to  try  to  persuade  them  to  come  in. 
She  would  say,  ^‘You  will  catch  cold,  my  dear 
children,  and  be  ill.  Dear  sakes  ! I ’d  just  like 
to  know  if  you  think  it  ^s  sensible,  staying  out  so 
late? 

Cold  ! were  they  cold  ? Did  they  feel  anything 
beyond  the  happiness  of  being  together?  People 
passing  along  the  road  at  evening  heard  the 
slight  murmur  of  two  voices,  mingled  with  the 
sound  of  the  waves  at  the  foot  of  the  cliffs  below. 

Gaud’s  clear  voice  alternating  with  Yann’s, 
which  had  sweet  and  caressing  tones  in  its  lower 
notes,  made  very  harmonious  music.  They  could 
see  also  their  two  silhouettes  thrown  out  against  the 
granite  wall  behind  them ; first  the  white  of  Gaud’s 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


193 


cap,  and  then  all  her  slender  figure  in  her  black 
gown,  and  beside  her  the  great  square  shoulders 
of  her  lover. 

Above  them  rose  the  dwarfed  roof  of  the  cot- 
tage, and  back  of  all  was  the  dim  twilight  and 
the  colorless  emptiness  of  sea  and  sky. 

They  finally  came  in,  however,  and  sat  down  in 
the  chimney-place,  where  old  Yvonne,  fast  asleep, 
with  her  head  fallen  over  on  her  breast,  did  not 
disturb  them  much.  They  began  to  talk  together 
in  a low  voice,  for  they  had  two  years  of  silence 
to  make  up  for,  and  must  make  haste  with  their 
courtship,  as  it  was  to  be  so  brief. 

They  had  arranged  to  live  with  Grandmother 
Yvonne,  who  had  left  them  the  cottage  in  her  will, 
and  for  the  present  were  compelled  to  put  off 
their  project  of  improving  and  beautifying  this 
poor  nest  of  theirs  until  Yann’s  return  from 
Iceland. 


CHAPTER  II. 

The  lovers  were  amusing  themselves  one  even- 
ing, telling  over  the  thousand  little  things  that  she 
had  done,  or  that  had  happened  to  him  since  their 
first  meeting  ; and  he  spoke  of  the  dresses  she  had 
worn,  and  different  fetes  she  had  been  to.  She 
listened  to  him  in  amazement.  How  could  he 
have  known  all  that?  Who  v/culd  have  imagined 

13 


194 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


that  he  would  notice  such  things  or  remember 
them?  And  he,  smiling,  put  on  a mysterious  air, 
and . related  still  further  little  details,  — things 
which  she  herself  had  almost  forgotten. 

Now  she  listened  without  interrupting  him,  in 
the  sudden  rapture  which  had  taken  complete 
possession  of  her,  beginning  to  understand  what 
it  all  meant.  He  had  loved  her  all  that  time 
himself!  She  had  been  his  constant  thought, 
and  he  was  now  innocently  confessing  it  to  her. 
So  what  could  have  been  the  matter?  Why  had 
he  so  neglected  her,  and  made  her  suffer  so  ? 

This  mystery,  which  he  had  promised  to  ex- 
plain to  her,  was  always  there ; but  he  always  had 
avoided  the  explanation  with  an  embarrassed  man- 
ner and  a little  enigmatical  smile. 


CHAPTER  HI. 

They  went  to  Paimpol,  one  pleasant  day,  with 
Grandmother  Yvonne,  to  buy  the  wedding  dress. 

Among  the  pretty  gowns  which  Gaud  had  had 
before,  there  v/ere  several  which  could  have  well 
been  arranged  for  the  occasion,  without  any 
necessity  of  buying  another.  But  Yann  wanted 
to  make  her  a present  of  it ; and  she  had  not 
tried  too  much  to  prevent  him,  for  he  thought 
that  for  her  to  have  a dress  which  he  had  given 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


195 


her,  bought  and  paid  for  with  the  money  he  had 
earned  by  fishing,  would  make  her  seem  already 
a little  like  his  wife. 

They  determined  upon  a black  dress,  — as 
Gaud  was  not  yet  out  of  mourning  for  her 
father.  But  Yann  did  not  find  anything  pretty 
enough  among  the  stuffs  spread  out  before  him. 
He  was  a little  haughty  with  the  shopkeepers ; 
and  he  whom  nothing  ever  had  induced  to  go  into 
the  shops  of  Paimpol  before  was  now  interested 
in  everything,  even  in  the  way  the  dress  was 
to  be  made,  and  wanted  deep  bands  of  velvet 
put  on  it  to  make  it  still  more  beautiful. 


CHAPTER  IV. 


One  evening,  as  Yann  and  Gaud  were  sitting  on 
their  stone  bench,  in  the  solitude  of  the  cliff,  under 
the  gathering  twilight,  their  eyes  fell  by  chance 
on  a thorn-bush  — the  only  one  around  — which 
was  growing  between  the  rocks  by  the  side  of  the 
road.  In  the  half  light,  it  seemed  to  them  that 
they  could  see  little  white  buds  on  it.  It  looks 
as  if  it  were  in  flower,”  said  Yann. 

And  they  went  up  to  make  sure.  And  in  fact, 
it  was  all  in  blossom.  Not  being  able  to  see 
very  clearly,  they  felt  it  with  their  fingers,  to 
make  sure  of  the  presence  of  the  wee  flowers, 


196  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

which  were  all  damp  with  the  mist.  And  then 
came  the  first  early  feeling  of  the  spring;  and 
at  the  same  time  it  struck  them  that  the  days 
had  become  longer,  that  the  air  was  milder,  and 
the  nights  less  dark. 

But  how  far  in  advance  this  bush  was  ! nowhere 
in  the  country  on  any  roadside  was  there  another 
like  it.  No  doubt  it  had  bloomed  expressly  for 
them,  for  their  love’s  holiday. 

Come,  we  must  pick  some  of  the  flowers,” 
said  Yann.  And  fumbling  about  in  the  dark,  he 
made  up  a bouquet  with  his  great  hands,  carefully 
cutting  off  the  thorns  with  his  big  fisher’s  knife, 
which  he  carried  in  his  belt,  and  then  he  fastened 
it  on  Gaud’s  dress. 

‘‘There!  You  look  just  like  a bride,”  he 
said,  stepping  back  to  see  how  it  became  her, 
notwithstanding  the  darkness. 

Below  them,  the  calm  sea  rippled  quietly  over 
the  pebbles  on  the  beach,  with  a little  intermit- 
tent sound,  like  the  regular  breathing  of  one 
asleep.  She  seemed  indifferent,  or  even  favorable, 
\ to  this  courtship  which  was  going  on  so  near  her. 

The  days  seemed  long  to  them  while  waiting 
for  the  evenings ; and  then,  when  they  separated 
on  the  stroke  of  ten,  they  were  a little  sad  because 
the  evenings  were  so  soon  ended. 

They  had  to  hurry  about  the  marriage  papers, 
and  everything  else,  for  fear  of  not  being  ready  in 
time,  and  so  letting  their  happiness  escape  them 
till  the  autumn,  in  the  uncertain  future. 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


197 


This  courtship  of  theirs,  carried  on  at  night  in 
this  melancholy  spot,  to  the  continual  sound  of 
the  sea,  and  with  an  almost  feverish  thought  of 
the  flight  of  time,  came  to  have  a strange  and 
almost  solemn  character. 

They  were  different  from  other  lovers,  graver 
and  less  tranquil  in  their  love. 

He  would  never  tell  her  what  he  had  had 
against  her  all  these  two  years ; and  after  he  had 
left  her  in  the  evening  the  mystery  tormented 
her.  Still,  he  loved  her  dearly ; she  was  sure  of 
that. 

It  was  true  that  he  had  loved  her  from  the  first, 
but  not  as  he  did  now.  It  seemed  to  have  filled 
his  heart  and  mind  ever  fuller  and  fuller,  like  the 
tide  which  rises  higher  and  higher  until  it  covers 
everything.  He  had  never  known  before  what 
it  was  to  love  anybody  in  that  way.  Once  in 
a while  he  would  throw  himself  almost  at  full 
length  along  the  bench  beside  Gaud,  putting  his 
head  on  her  knees  like  a child,  to  be  caressed, 
and  then  he  would  get  up  again  very  quickly,  for 
propriety’s  sake.  And  he  loved  to  throw  himself 
on  the  ground  at  her  feet,  lying  there  quietly  with 
his  head  on  the  edge  of  her  dress.  He  adored 
that  sacred  something  about  her  which  was  her 
soul,  which  showed  itself  in  the  pure  and  tranquil 
sound  of  her  voice,  in  the  expression  of  her 
smile,  and  in  her  beautiful  clear  gaze. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


198 


CHAPTER  V. 


One  rainy  evening  Yann  and  Gaud  were  sitting 
side  by  side  in  the  chimney-corner,  Grandmother 
Yvonne  opposite  them  asleep.  The  dancing 
flames  of  the  wood-fire  threw  great  shadows  of 
them  up  and  down,  across  the  blackened  ceiling. 

They  were  speaking  very  low,  as  lovers  do ; 
but  this  evening  there  were  long  embarrassed 
pauses  in  their  conversation.  Yann  particularly 
said  almost  nothing,  but  hung  his  head,  half  smil- 
ing, trying  to  avoid  Gaud’s  eyes. 

It  was  because  she  had  been  plying  him  all 
the  evening  with  questions  about  this  mystery 
v^^hich  he  could  not  be  made  to  explain ; and  this 
time  he  found  himself  in  close  quarters.  She  was 
too  bright  and  too  determined  to  find  out  all 
about  it ; no  pretext  would  avail  him  this  time. 

Did  you  hear  unkind  things  said  about  me?  ” 
she  asked. 

He  tried  to  reply,  Yes.”  Unkind  things? 
Oh,  yes  ! he  had  heard  plenty  of  things  said 
about  her  in  Paimpol  and  in  Ploubazlanec. 

She  asked  What  ? ” He  was  embarrassed  and 
did  not  know  what  to  say,  and  then  she  knew 
directly  that  it  must  be  something  else. 

Was  it  the  way  I dressed,  Yann?  ” 

Yes,  that  had  had  something  to  do  with  it ; 
she  was  too  well  dressed  at  one  time  for  the  wife 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  1 99 

of  a simple  fisherman.  But  finally  he  had  to 
confess  that  it  was  not  that  either. 

^^Was  it  because  at  one  time  we  were  con- 
sidered to  be  rich?  You  were  afraid  of  being 
refused?  ” 

Oh,  no,  not  that.” 

He  made  this  reply  with  such  an  innocent  con- 
fidence in  himself  that  Gaud  was  amused ; and 
then  there  was  another  pause,  during  which  the 
sobbing  sound  of  the  wind  and  the  waves  could 
be  heard  outside. 

And  while  she  looked  earnestly  at  him  an  idea 
slowly  dawned  upon  her,  and  her  expression  began 
to  change. 

It  was  nothing  of  that  kind,  Yann ; then  what 
was  it?  ” she  said,  suddenly  looking  him  straight 
in  the  eyes  with  an  irresistible  smile,  as  if  she  had 
found  out  what  it  was. 

And  then  he  turned  away  his  head  and  laughed. 
So  it  was  this,  — she  had  found  it  out ! — he  could 
give  her  no  reason,  because  he  had  none  and 
never  had  had  any.  It  was  simply  because  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  that  he  would  not  (as  Syl- 
vestre  had  formerly  told  her),  that  was  all.  And 
then  they  had  teased  him  about  this  Gaud. 
Everybody  — his  parents,  Sylvestre,  his  mates, 
even  Gaud  herself  — had  tried  to  persuade  him 
to  it. 

He  had  begun  by  saying  No,  — obstinately.  No, 
but  always  keeping  in  the  bottom  of  his  heart  the 
idea  that  some  day  when  nobody  was  expecting 


200 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


it,  it  would  certainly  end  by  being  Yes.  And  it 
was  on  account  of  this  childishness  of  her  Yann 
that  Gaud  had  pined  away  in  loneliness  two  long 
years,  and  had  longed  that  she  might  die. 

After  the  first  impulse,  which  was  to  laugh  a 
little  in  the  confusion  of  being  caught,  Yann 
looked  at  Gaud  with  serious  honest  eyes,  which 
in  their  turn  were  earnestly  questioning  her.  If 
she  would  only  forgive  him  ! he  was  so  very  sorry 
now,  that  he  had  caused  her  so  much  pain,  and 
would  she  pardon  him? 

It ’s  my  way,  Gaud,’^  said  he ; at  home, 
with  my  parents,  it ’s  the  same  thing.  Sometimes 
when  I get  an  obstinate  fit,  I stay  angry  with  them 
a whole  week,  hardly  speaking  a word  to  any- 
body. But  I love  them  just  the  same ; and  I 
always  end  by  doing  just  what  they  want,  as  if  I 
were  a child  of  ten.  If  you  only  knew  what  an 
idea  it  had  been  of  mine,  not  to  marry.  But  it 
could  not  have  lasted  very  long  any  way.  Gaud, 
I assure  you.” 

If  she  would  only  forgive  him  ! She  felt  the 
loving  tears  come  into  her  eyes,  and  the  last  rem- 
nant of  her  old  grief  vanished  with  this  confession. 
And  besides,  without  all  that  former  suffering  the 
present  would  not  have  been  so  joyful ; and  now 
that  it  was  over,  she  was  almost  glad  to  have  had 
that  time  of  trial.  Now  everything  was  cleared 
up  between  them,  in  an  unexpected  way,  it  was 
true,  but  completely;  there  was  no  longer  any 
cloud  between  their  two  souls.  He  drew  her 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


201 


into  his  arms,  and  they  rested  so,  their  heads 
together  and  her  cheek  laid  on  his,  having  no 
need  to  explain  anything  more  or  to  say  another 
word. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


It  was  yet  six  days  before  the  fishermen  were 
to  set  sail  for  Iceland.  The  wedding  procession 
was  returning  from  the  church  of  Ploubazlanec, 
blown  about  by  a furious  wind,  under  a black  and 
lowering  sky. 

They  were  very  handsome,  both  of  them,  walk- 
ing along  arm  in  arm,  like  sovereigns,  at  the 
head  of  their  procession,  as  if  lost  in  a dream. 
Calm,  reserved,  and  grave,  they  seemed  to  see 
nothing  about  them  and  to  be  exalted  above  this 
mundane  sphere.  And  it  seemed  as  if  even  the 
wind  respected  them,  for  all  behind  them  the  cor- 
tege was  one  merry  disorder  of  laughing  couples, 
blown  about  by  the  great  gusts  from  the  west. 

There  were  many  young  persons  among  them 
for  whom  life  was  just  beginning;  and  some 
were  already  gray,  but  they  smiled  nevertheless, 
as  they  remembered  their  own  weddings  and 
their  early  years. 

Grandmother  Yvonne  was  there,  following  along, 
very  much  out  of  breath,  but  almost  happy,  on 
the  arm  of  an  old  uncle  of  Yann,  who  was  mak- 


202 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


ing  gallant,  old-fashioned  speeches  to  her.  She 
wore  a beautiful  new  cap  which  they  had  bought 
her  for  the  occasion,  and  the  same  little  shawl,  — 
dyed  again  for  the  third  time,  — black  now  on 
account  of  Sylvestre. 

And  the  wind  without  distinction  buffetted  all 
these  invited  guests ; and  petticoats  were  lifted, 
and  dresses  blown  about,  and  hats  and  bonnets 
flew  off  in  the  gusts. 

At  the  door  of  the  church  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom had  bought,  according  to  the  custom,  little 
bouquets  of  artificial  flowers  to  complete  their 
costume.  Yann  had  pinned  his  carelessly  upon 
his  broad  chest ; but  he  was  one  of  those  people 
who  can  wear  anything.  As  for  Gaud,  however, 
there  was  an  air  of  distinction  even  in  the  way 
these  poor,  coarse  flowers  were  arranged  upon  her 
beautifully  fitting  gown,  which  was  made,  as  in  for- 
mer days,  so  as  to  set  off  her  exquisite  figure. 

The  fiddler,  who  was  leading  the  procession, 
exasperated  by  the  wind,  was  playing  recklessly ; 
and  his  tunes,  coming  to  the  ears  in  gusts  amid 
the  noise  of  this  mighty  gale,  seemed  a droll  little 
music,  shriller  than  the  cry  of  a sea-gull. 

All  Ploubazlanec  had  come  out  to  see  them. 
This  marriage  was  a thing  everybody  was  deeply 
interested  in,  and  came  from  all  the  country 
around  to  see. 

At  the  crossways  there  were  groups  of  people 
waiting  to  see  them  pass.  Almost  all  the  Ice- 
landers, friends  of  Yann,  were  stationed  there. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


203 


They  saluted  the  bride  and  bridegroom  as  they 
went  by,  and  Gaud  replied  with  a slight  incli- 
nation of  her  head,  with  the  quiet  grace  of  a 
young  lady ; and  she  was  admired  all  along  the 
route. 

All  the  hamlets  round  about,  even  the  most 
wretched  and  remote,  including  those  in  the  for- 
ests of  the  back  country,  were  em.ptied  of  their 
maimed  and  lame,  the  simple  and  the  insane. 

All  these  were  stationed  along  the  roadside, 
playing  on  accordions  and  hurdy-gurdies,  and 
holding  out  their  hands,  their  bowls,  or  their 
caps  to  receive  the  alms  which  Yann  threw  to 
them  with  a grand  and  generous  air,  and  Gaud 
with  a gracious  smile  like  a queen.  There  were 
some  very  old  beggars  among  them,  with  white 
hair  covering  their  empty  heads ; and  as  they 
crouched  in  the  hollows  of  the  road,  they  looked  \ 
of  the  same  color  as  that  earth  from  which  they 
seemed  never  to  have  quite  emerged,  and  into 
which  they  would  so  soon  return,  without  ever 
having  known  a thought.  Their  wandering  eyes 
disturbed  one  like  the  mystery  of  their  useless 
and  abortive  lives,  as  they  looked  on,  v/ithout 
understanding,  at  this  festival  of  full  and  mag- 
nificent life  which  was  passing  by. 

They  went  on  past  the  hamlet  of  Pors-Even 
and  the  Gaos’  house,  for  they  were  going,  as  was 
the  custom  of  newly  wedded  people  in  Ploubaz- 
lanec,  to  the  Chapel  of  the  Trinity,  which  is  situ- 
ated, as  it  were,  at  the  very  end  of  the  Breton 


204 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


country.  At  the  foot  of  the  last  and  most  ex- 
treme point  of  the  cliffs  the  chapel  stands  on  a 
pedestal  of  low  rocks,  very  near  to  the  water,  as 
if  it  already  belonged  to  the  sea.  To  get  down 
to  it  they  had  to  take  a goat-path  winding  down 
among  great  blocks  of  granite ; and  the  wedding 
procession  spread  out  over  the  slope  of  this  lonely 
cape  among  the  rocks,  their  merry  and  gallant 
speeches  being  lost  in  the  noise  of  wind  and  waves. 

It  was  impossible  to  reach  the  chapel.  In  such 
stormy  weather  the  sea  with  its  great  breakers 
came  up  too  far  for  them  to  venture,  and  they 
could  see  the  white  crests  dashing  up  high  and 
covering  the  path  as  they  fell. 

Yann,  who  went  ahead,  with  Gaud  leaning  on 
his  arm,  drew  back  first  before  the  raging  water. 
Behind  him,  the  procession,  scattered  among  the 
rocks,  which  were  here  cut  out  like  an  amphi- 
theatre, stopped  short ; and  it  seemed  as  if  he 
had  come  to  present  his  wife  to  the  sea,  which 
seemed  to  receive  the  bride  with  an  angry  face. 
As  he  turned  around,  he  saw  the  fiddler  perched 
up  on  a gray  rock  trying  to  grind  out  the  tune  of 
a country  dance  between  the  blasts. 

Put  up  your  music,  my  friend,’^  he  said  to 
him  ; the  sea  is  getting  ahead  of  you.’^ 

x\t  the  same  time  a heavy  driving  rain,  which 
had  been  holding  off  since  morning,  began  to 
pour  down ; and  that  was  the  signal  for  a great 
rush,  as  with  shouts  of  laughter  they  scrambled 
up  the  high  cliff  and  fled  into  the  Gaos’  house. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


205 


CHAPTER  VIL 

The  wedding  feast  was  held  at  the  house  of 
Yann’s  parents,  because  Gaud’s  cottage  was  so 
poor  and  so  small. 

In  the  big  new  room  upstairs,  a table  was  set 
for  twenty-five  people,  who  were  to  sit  down  with 
the  happy  pair,  — brothers  and  sisters.  Cousin 
Gaos  the  pilot,  Guermeur,  Keraez,  Yvon  Duff, 
all  the  crew  of  the  old  Marie,”  who  were  now  on 
the  Leopoldine,”  four  very  pretty  bride’s- maids, 
with  their  hair  wound  in  coils  over  their  ears  like 
the  ancient  Byzantine  empresses,  and  caps  made 
in  the  new  fashion  for  young  girls,  like  a sea- 
shell  ; four  groomsmen,  too,  all  of  them  Ice- 
landers, fine-looking  fellows  with  bright  hand- 
some eyes. 

Below,  of  course,  there  was  eating  and  cooking 
going  on.  The  whole  procession  was  gathered 
there  quite  in  confusion ; and  the  women  who 
had  been  hired  at  Paimpol  to  help  at  the  feast 
quite  lost  their  heads  before  the  great  chimney- 
place,  filled  up  with  skillets  and  boilers.  Yann’s 
parents  would  have  liked  a richer  woman  for 
their  son,  of  course.  But  Gaud  was  now  thought 
a good  and  brave  young  woman,  and  then  to 
offset  her  lost  fortune,  she  was  the  most  beautiful 


206 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


girl  in  the  country;  and  it  pleased  them  to  see 
the  husband  and  wife  so  well  matched. 

And  the  old  father  said  jokingly  over  his  soup, 

We  ’ll  have  more  Gaoses  than  ever  now,  and 
there  was  certainly  no  lack  of  them  in  Paimpol 
before.”  And  counting  on  his  fingers,  he  ex- 
plained to  an  uncle  of  the  bride  how  many  there 
were  of  that  name.  His  father,  who  was  the 
youngest  of  nine  brothers,  had  had  twelve  chil- 
dren, who  had  all  married  relatives,  and  that  had 
made  a lot  of  Gaoses,  in  spite  of  those  who  had 
been  lost  in  Iceland. 

And  I also,”  he  said,  married  a Gaos,  and 
we  two  have  had  fourteen.” 

And  at  the  thought  of  this  colony,  he  laughed 
and  shook  his  head. 

Lord  ! he  had  had  enough  trouble  to  bring 
them  up,  his  fourteen  little  Gaoses ; but  things 
v/ere  clearing  up  now,  and  then,  besides,  the  ten 
thousand  francs  from  the  wreck  had  made  them 
really  very  comfortable. 

Very  gayly  too.  Neighbor  Guermeur  related  his 
adventures  during  his  military  seivice,  — stories 
of  China,  the  Antilles,  and  Brazil,  which  made  the 
young  men  who  were  to  go  there  some  day  open 
their  eyes. 

One  of  his  best  stories  was  about  a time  on 
board  the  Iphigenie,”  when  they  were  filling  the 
casks  with  wine  in  the  evening  just  at  dusk,  and 
the  funnel  through  which  it  was  poured  in  sprung 
a leak ; and  then,  instead  of  telling  of  it,  they  be- 


AAT  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  20  J 

gan  to  drink  at  the  hole,  and  they  kept  it  up  two 
hours,  until  they  could  hold  no  more,  and  finally 
the  whole  gun- deck  was  flooded,  for  everybody 
was  drunk. 

And  then  the  old  salts  who  were  sitting  at  the 
table  laughed  their  merry  boyish  laugh  and  said 
with  a touch  of  mischief,  There  is  a great  deal 
of  talk  against  the  service,  but  it ’s  only  there  that 
you  get  such  a chance  as  that.” 

Out  of  doors,  the  weather  was  getting  no  better ; 
on  the  contrary,  the  wind  and  the  rain  were  fairly 
raging  in  the  black  darkness.  In  spite  of  all  the 
precautions  which  had  been  taken,  there  were  some 
who  got  nervous  about  their  boats  anchored  in 
the  harbor,  and  began  to  talk  about  going  off  to 
see  about  them.  Notwithstanding  this,  there  was 
another  sound,  much  pleasanter  to  hear,  which 
came  up  from  below,  where  the  young  ones  of 
the  party  were  taking  supper  together,  — shouts 
of  joy  and  laughter  from  little  boys  and  girls,  all 
cousins  of  Yann,  who  were  beginning  to  get  very 
merry  over  the  cider. 

They  had  boiled  and  roasted  meats  for  supper, 
chickens,  all  kinds  of  fish,  omelets  and  pan- 
cakes. They  talked  about  fishing  and  smuggling, 
and  discussed  all  sorts  of  ways  for  tricking  the 
coast-gJj'2,ras-men,  who,  as  everybody  knows,  are 
^iVe'  bom  enemies  of  fishermen. 

Upstairs,  at  the  table  of  honor,  they  began  to 
\ tell  funny  tales  ; and  a fire  of  stories  flew  about  in 
« Breton  dialect,  among  these  men,  who  had  all  sailed 


2o8 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


around  the  world  in  their  time.  And  then  all  of 
a sudden  one  of  Yann’s  little  brothers,  with  rosy 
face  and  bright  eyes,  a future  Icelander,  became 
very  ill  from  having  drunk  too  much  cider,  and 
had  to  be  taken  out  very  quickly  indeed.  This 
interrupted  the  talk ; and  as  the  wind  was  blowing 
now  decidedly  too  hard,  some  of  them  broke  off 
their  stories  in  the  middle  and  started  off  to  look 
after  their  boats.  The  wind  howled  in  the  chim- 
ney like  the  tortured  souls  of  the  damned,  and 
every  now  and  then  with  terrific  force  shook  the 
whole  house  on  its  stone  foundations. 

It  seems  as  if  it  was  angry  because  we  are 
amusing  ourselves,”  said  their  cousin  the  pilot. 

No,  it  ^s  the  sea  who  is  angry,”  replied  Yann, 

' looking  at  Gaud,  because  I promised  to  marry 
her.” 

These  two  sat  together,  hand  in  hand,  lost  in  a 
dreamy  languor,  whispering  low,  as  if  alone  in  the 
midst  of  all  this  gayety.  And  sometimes  too 
Yann  was  sad,  at  the  thought  of  Sylvestre  ; it  had 
been  arranged  that  there  should  be  no  dancing 
on  his  account  and  because  of  Gaud’s  father. 
They  had  reached  dessert ; and  pretty  soon  the 
songs  would  begin.  But  first,  there  were  pray- 
ers to  be  said  for  those  of  the  family  who  were 
dead.  At  these  wedding  feasts  this -ffpligious 
duty  is  never  omitted ; and  when  Father  Gae^ 
was  seen  rising  from  his  seat  and  uncovering 
his  white  head,  a silence  fell  on  all.  ^^This,”  he 
said,  is  for  Guillaume  Gaos,  my  father.”  And 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  209 

making  the  sign  of  the  cross,  he  began  the 
Latin  prayer : — 

‘‘  Pater  noster  qui  es  in  coelis,  sanctificetur  nomen 
tuum.” 

The  silence  of  a church  now  fell  on  all  in  the 
house,  even  over  the  merry  tables  of  the  children, 
and  all  under  the  roof  were  repeating  in  spirit 
the  same  eternal  words. 

^^This  is  for  Yves  and  Jean  Gaos,  my  brothers, 
lost  in  the  Iceland  sea;  this  is  for  Pierre  Gaos, 
my  son,  wrecked  with  the  ‘Zelis.’”  And  then, 
when  all  the  Gaoses  had  been  prayed  for,  he 
turned  toward  Grandmother  Moan  and  said,  This 
is  for  Sylvestre  IMoan.”  And  he  recited  another 
prayer,  while  Yann’s  tears  fell. 

Sed  libera  nos  a malo.  Amen.” 

And  then  the  songs  began,  — songs  learned  at 
service  in  the  forecastle,  where  there  are  always, 
as  every  one  knows,  plenty  of  very  fine  singers. 

“ Un  noble  corps,  pas  moins,  que  celui  de  zouaves  ; 
Mais  chez  nous  les  braves 
Narguent  le  destin, 

Hurrah  1 hurrah  ! vive  le  vrai  marin  ! 

The  couplets  were  recited  by  one  of  the  grooms- 
men in  a rhythmic  way  which  was  very  taking, 
and  then  a lot  of  good  voices  took  up  the 
chorus. 

But  the  wedded  pair  heard  all  this  only  as  if  it 
came  from  a distance,  and  spoke  lower  and  lower 
to  each  other,  as  they  still  sat  hand  in  hand ; and 
14 


210 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


Gaud  often  bent  her  head  with  a look  of  love  and 
fear  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

And  now  their  cousin  the  pilot  was  going 
around  the  table,  serving  a certain  special  wine 
of  his  own,  which  he  had  brought  over  with  num- 
berless precautions,  holding  the  bottle  carefully 
in  a horizontal  position,  as  he  said  it  must  not  be 
shaken  up ; and  then  he  told  its  history. 

One  day  while  he  was  fishing,  he  saw  a hogs- 
head floating  alone  out  at  sea ; it  was  impossible 
to  tow  it  in,  as  it  was  too  large.  So  they  broke 
into  it  as  it  lay  in  the  water,  and  filled  every  jug 
and  pan  they  had  on  board  with  the  wine.  Even 
then  they  could  not  empty  it ; so  they  signalled 
to  the  other  pilots  and  fishermen,  and  all  the 
sails  in  sight  gathered  around  the  find. 

And  there  was  more  than  one  who  was  tipsy, 
I can  fell  you,  when  we  got  home  that  evening  to 
Pors-Even.’' 

Outside,  the  wind  still  kept  up  its  frightful  up- 
roar. 

Downstairs  the  children  were  dancing  round 
dances  and  jigs.  Some  of  the  smallest  ones, 
nearly  all  of  them  little  Gaoses,  had  indeed  been 
put  to  bed ; but  the  others  were  making  a great 
noise,  led  by  little  Fantec  ^ and  the  small  Laumec,^ 
who  were  wanting  actually  to  run  and  jump  out- 
doors, and  opening  the  door  every  moment,  let 
in  furious  blasts  which  blew  out  the  candles. 


^ Breton  for  Francis.  ^ Breton  for  William. 


AJV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


2 I I 


The  pilot  went  on  to  finish  the  story  of  the 
wine.  He  had  had  forty  bottles  for  his  share, 
and  he  begged  them  to  be  sure  not  to  speak  of 
it,  for  fear  of  Monsieur  le  Commissaire  of  the  de- 
partment, who  might  make  trouble  for  him  be- 
cause he  had  not  made  a declaration  of  the  wreck. 
‘‘And  I can  tell  you,”  he  went  on,  “he  would 
have  taken  good  care  of  these  bottles ; for  if  we 
could  have  drawn  them  off  clear,  it  would  have 
been  a capital  good  wine,  for  there  ’s  more  of  the 
real  juice  of  the  grape  in  it  than  in  all  the  cellars 
of  all  the  wine-shops  in  Paimpol.” 

Who  knows  where  it  had  come  from,  this  ship- 
wrecked wine?  It  was  strong,  high-colored,  very 
much  mixed  with  sea-water,  and  still  retained  a 
sharp,  salty  taste.  It  was  nevertheless  found  very 
good,  and  several  bottles  of  it  were  emptied. 
And  then  their  heads  began  to  turn  a little ; their 
voices  got  a little  thick ; and  the  boys  began  to 
kiss  the  girls. 

The  singing  went  on  gayly ; but  there  was  very 
little  more  comfortable  enjoyment  of  the  feast, 
and  the  men  looked  anxiously  at  one  another,  on 
account  of  the  storm  which  was  rising  all  the 
time.  The  wind  was  howling  outside  worse  than 
ever;  it  was  now  one  single,  continuous  roar, 
swelling  threateningly  louder  and  louder,  as  if 
uttered  by  the  open  throats  of  thousands  of  en- 
raged beasts. 

It  seemed  also  as  if  one  heard  the  heavy  boom 
of  great  guns  in  the  distance ; that  was  the  sea 


212 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


which  was  beating  all  along  the  coast  of  Plou- 
bazlanec.  No,  she  certainly  did  not  seem  con- 
tent ; and  Gaud  felt  frightened  at  this  terrific 
music,  which  no  one  had  commanded  to  play  at 
their  wedding. 

About  midnight,  during  a lull  in  the  storm, 
Yann  rose  quietly,  and  made  a sign  to  his  wife 
to  come  and  speak  to  him. 

It  was  time  for  them  to  go  home,  he  said. 
She  blushed,  and  was  confused  to  find  that  she 
had  risen,  and  replied  that  it  would  be  impolite 
to  go  away  and  leave  the  guests. 

No,”  replied  Yann  ; Father  gives  us  permis- 
sion j we  can  go.” 

He  drew  her  after  him,  and  they  quietly  made 
their  escape. 

And  then  they  found  themselves  outside  in 
the  cold,  in  the  furious  gale,  and  the  deep  and 
stormy  night;  and  hand  in  hand  they  started 
to  run.  From  the  heights  of  the  cliff-path  they 
felt  rather  than  saw  the  mighty  raging  sea, 
whence  all  this  clamor  arose.  And  as  they  ran, 
bent  over  against  the  gale,  the  rain  cutting  them 
full  in  their  faces,  they  were  sometimes  obliged 
to  turn  around  and  cover  their  mouths  with  their 
hands,  to  get  back  their  breath,  blown  away  by 
the  wind. 

First  he  took  her  by  the  waist,  almost  carrying 
her,  to  keep  her  from  dragging  her  dress  and 
spoiling  her  pretty  slippers  in  the  water  which 
was  streaming  over  the  ground,  and  then  he  lifted 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  2 1 3 

her  right  up  on  his  shoulders,  and  went  on  run- 
ning faster  than  ever. 

No,  he  had  not  believed  that  he  could  love 
her  so.  And  to  think  that  she  was  twenty-two 
and  he  nearly  twenty-eight,  and  that  they  might 
have  been  married  and  as  happy  as  they  were 
to-night  for  at  least  two  years  ! 

Finally  they  arrived  at  home,  at  their  poor  little 
cottage,  with  its  damp  floor  and  its  thatched  and 
mossy  roof ; and  they  lit  a candle  which  was  twice 
blown  out  by  the  wind. 

Old  Grandmother  Moan,  who  had  been  taken 
home  before  the  singing  began,  had  been  in  bed 
for  the  last  two  hours  in  her  cupboard  with  the 
doors  shut.  They  went  up  quietly,  and  looked 
at  her  through  the  crack  of  the  door,  to  bid  her 
good-night  if  by  chance  she  was  awake.  But 
they  saw  that  the  old  face  was  quiet  and  her  eyes 
shut,  and  that  she  was  asleep,  or  pretended  to  be, 
so  as  not  to  disturb  them.  And  then  they  felt 
themselves  alone  together. 

And  they  trembled  as  they  clasped  each  other’s 
hands.  He  bent  over  to  kiss  her  lips,  and  Gaud 
turned  her  face  and  pressed  her  lips  to  Yann’s 
cheek,  which  was  quite  cold  from  the  wind. 

The  cottage  was  very  low  and  very  poor,  and 
it  was  very  cold.  Ah,  if  Gaud  had  only  re- 
mained rich  as  she  once  had  been,  what  pleasure 
she  would  have  had  in  arranging  a pretty  room, 
far  different  from  this  one,  with  its  bare  earthen 
floor  ! She  was  hardly  yet  accustomed  to  these 


/2I4  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

j rude  granite  walls,  and  to  the  rough  look  of  every- 
' thing ; but  her  Yann  was  there  with  her,  and  all 
I was  changed  and  transfigured  by  his  presence. 
f She  had  no  consciousness  of  anything  but  him. 
r And  now  their  lips  had  met,  and  she  no  longer 
turned  away  her  own.  Clasped  tight  in  each 
other's  arms,  they  stood  mute  and  lost  in  the 
ecstasy  of  that  long  kiss,  being  unable  to  disen- 
gage their  clinging  arms,  knowing  nothing,  desir- 
ing nothing,  more  than  that  embrace. 

Finally  she  freed  herself  in  sudden  confusion 
and  said,  — 

No,  Yann,  Grandmother  Yvonne  might  see 
us  ! " 

But  he,  with  a smile,  again  sought  the  lips  of 
his  wife,  and  quickly,  though  still  without  leav- 
ing that  exquisite  mouth,  put  his  arm  out  behind 
him,  and  with  the  back  of  his  hand,  put  out  the 
light. 

Around  and  about  them  on  this  their  wedding 
night,  the  same  invisible  orchestra  still  played  on. 

Hou,  hou  ! hou,  hou  ! The  wind  now  uttered 
its  cavernous  roar  with  trembling  rage,  and  then 
again  repeated  its  menace  close  to  their  ears,  as 
if  with  a refinement  of  malice,  with  little  shrill 
sounds,  like  the  piercing  shriek  of  an  owl.  And 
there  was  the  great  tomb  of  sailors  near  at  hand, 
rolling,  devouring,  and  beating  against  the  cliffs 
with  its  dull,  heavy  blows ; and  one  night  or 
another,  he  would  be  there  struggling  with  the 
frenzy  of  its  black  and  icy  waters,  and  they  knew 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


2ir: 


it.  What  did  it  matter?  for  the  moment  they 
were  on  land,  sheltered  from  all  this  futile  rage 
which  only  turned  upon  itself,  and  in  the  poor 
dark  cottage,  through  which  the  wind  was  whis- 
tling, they  gave  themselves  to  each  other,  without 
a thought  of  danger  or  of  death,  spell-bound  and 
intoxicated  by  the  eternal  magic  of  love. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


They  were  together  for  just  six  days. 

As  the  time  drew  near,  preparations  for  the  de- 
parture for  Iceland  occupied  every  one.  Women 
were  employed  in  piling  salt  for  brine  in  the 
holds  of  the  ships,  and  the  men  were  getting  the 
rigging  in  order ; and  at  Yann’s  house  his  mother 
and  sisters  were  working  from  morning  till  night, 
at  their  sou’ westers  ” and  oilskins  and  the  ne- 
cessary outfit  for  the  coming  season.  The  weather 
was  threatening ; and  the  sea,  under  the  breath  of 
the  equinox,  was  rough  and  troubled. 

Gaud  went  through  these  inexorable  prepara- 
tions with  anguish,  counting  the  rapid  hours  of 
the  day,  as  she  waited  for  the  evening,  when 
work  being  over,  she  would  have  her  Yann  to 
herself. 

Would  he  always  be  going  away  thus,  in  the 
years  that  were  to  come? 


2i6 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


She  hoped  much  that  she  would  be  able  to 
discover  some  way  of  keeping  him  back,  but  now 
she  did  not  dare  to  speak  to  him  about  it ; never- 
theless, he  loved  her  well.  His  feelings  toward 
former  sweethearts  had  been  as  nothing  in  com- 
parison with  this,  nothing  like  the  tenderness  and 
the  trust  of  their  love  for  each  other.  And  what 
charmed  and  surprised  Gaud  was  to  find  him  so 
sweet,  so  like  a child,  — this  great  Yann,  whom  she 
had  seen  sometimes  at  Paimpol  putting  on  such 
a disdainful  manner  with  the  girls.  To  her,  on 
the  contrary,  he  showed  always  the  same  courtesy, 
which  seemed  natural  to  him ; and  she  adored 
the  pleasant  smile  he  gave  her  whenever  their 
eyes  met.  Among  the  Breton  people,  there  is 
always  a sentiment  of  innate  respect  for  the 
dignity  of  the  wife.  And  yet  Gaud  was  a little 
fearful  in  her  happiness ; it  was  something  she  had 
so  long  despaired  of  that  it  seemed  almost  like 
a dream.  And  then,  this  love  of  Yann’s,  — would 
it  last  ? 

Sometimes  she  remembered  his  dissipated  life 
of  old,  his  fits  of  violence,  and  his  adventures, 
and  was  afraid.  Would  he  always  show  her  this 
infinite  tenderness  and  this  gentle  courtesy? 

^ V Truly,  six  days  of  married  life  was  as  nothing  for 
a love  like  theirs,  — nothing  but  a little  feverish 
advance  on  their  life’s  account,  which  might  run 
on  still  for  so  many  long  years  to  come.  They 
scarcely  had  time  to  see  and  talk  to  each  other, 
and  to  understand  that  they  really  belonged  to 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


217 


each  other.  All  their  plans  for  their  life  to- 
gether, their  arrangements  for  housekeeping,  and 
their  hope  of  quiet  happiness  had  to  be  put  off 
until  his  return. 

Oh,  in  those  years  to  come,  she  would  keep 
him  at  any  price  from  going  again  to  that  dread- 
ful Iceland  ! 

But  how  was  she  going  to  manage  it  ? How 
would  they  live,  — they  who  were  both  so  poor  ? 
And  then  he  was  so  attached  to  his  seafaring  life  ! 

She  tried  two  or  three  times,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, to  restrain  him,  and  with  all  the  powers  of 
her  will  and  heart  and  mind.  To  be  the  wife 
of  an  Iceland  fisherman,  to  await  the  approach  of 
spring  with  sadness,  to  pass  each  summer  in  pain- 
fal  anxiety  1 No,  now  that  she  adored  him  as 
she  had  never  believed  it  possible  that  she  could, 
she  was  seized  with  a terror  which  was  too  great 
to  be  endured,  when  she  thought  of  those  years 
to  come. 

They  had  one  spring  day  together,  — one  only. 
It  was  the  day  before  he  was  to  set  sail ; every- 
thing was  in  order  on  board,  and  Yann  spent  the 
whole  day  with  her.  They  walked  arm  in  arm 
together  along  the  paths,  like  lovers,  keeping 
close  to  each  other  and  talking  of  a thousand 
things. 

And  people  smiled  as  they  saw  them  pass  and 
said,  ‘‘  There ’s  Gaud  and  big  Yann,  of  Pors-Even, 
who  were  married  the  other  day.” 

It  was  early  springtime,  on  this  last  day  of 


2i8 


ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


theirs  together,  and  it  seemed  something  novel 
and  strange  to  see  the  sudden  calm  and  the 
usually  stormy  sky  without  a cloud.  There  was 
no  wind  from  any  quarter.  The  sea  was  mild, 
and  was  everywhere  of  the  same  light  blue,  and 
perfectly  tranquil.  The  sun  shone  with  a great 
white  brilliancy ; and  the  rude  Breton  country 
seemed  to  bathe  itself  in  its  radiance  as  in  some- 
thing fine  and  rare,  seeming  to  smile  and  awake 
to  new  life  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  The 
air  was  deliciously  mild  and  smelt  of  sum- 
mer ; one  would  have  said  that  it  had  been 
stilled  forever,  and  that  there  would  never  be 
any  more  dark  days  or  storms.  The  capes 
and  bays,  over  which  the  changing  shadows  of 
the  clouds  no  longer  floated,  stood  out  clear  in 
the  sunlight  with  their  great  immovable  lines ; 
and  they  too  seemed  to  repose  in  endless  peace 
and  calm.  And  it  all  seemed  to  make  sweeter 
and  more  eternal  the  springtide  of  their  love. 
On  the  roadside  they  saw  already  little  early 
flowers,  primroses  and  violets,  but  pale  and  with- 
out fragrance. 

When  Gaud  asked,  — 

How  long  will  you  love  me,  Yann?  aston- 
ished, he  replied,  as  he  looked  into  her  face  with 
his  beautiful  honest  eyes,  — 

Why,  always.  Gaud.” 

And  this  word  spoken  so  simply  by  these  un- 
tutored lips  seemed  to  express  in  its  deepest 
significance  the  eternity  of  love. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  2 1 9 

She  leaned  upon  his  arm,  pressing  closely  to 
his  side,  in  the  enchantment  of  her  realized 
dream,  still  fearful,  and  feeling  that  he  would 
soon  fly  away  like  some  great  sea-bird.  To- 
morrow at  wing  on  the  ocean ! and  now  for 
this  once  it  was  too  late;  she  could  do  nothing 
to  keep  him  back. 

From  the  cliff- paths  where  they  were  walking 
they  could  overlook  the  whole  sea-coast,  which 
spread  out  before  them,  apparently  without  a tree, 
but  carpeted  with  low-growing  furze  and  strewn 
with  rocks.  The  fishermen’s  huts,  with  their  old 
quaint  walls,  stood  out  here  and  there  among 
the  rocks,  with  thatched  roofs  like  high  hunched 
backs,  all  green  with  new  moss ; and  in  the  far 
distance  lay  the  sea  like  some  great  hazy  vision 
describing  its  mighty  circle,  and  seeming  to  hold 
everything  in  its  everlasting  embrace. 

Gaud  was  amusing  herself  with  telling  him  about 
the  wonderful  and  astonishing  sights  of  Paris, 
where  she  had  lived  ; but  he  very  contemptuously 
declined  to  be  interested.  So  far  from  the 
coast ! ” he  said,  and  so  much  land,  — so  much 
land,  — why,  that  must  be  unhealthy.  So  many 
houses,  so  many  people  ! There  must  be  all  kinds 
of  evil  diseases  in  these  cities.  I don’t  want  to 
live  there,  — not  I,  — you  may  be  sure.” 

And  she  smiled,  astonished  to  see  how  much  of 
the  innocent  child  there  was  still  left  in  this  great 
fellow. 

Sometimes  they  plunged  into  hollows  among 


2 20 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


the  cliffs,  where  real  trees  were  growing,  seeming 
to  cower  there  away  from  the  ocean  winds.  Down 
there,  there  v/as  no  longer  any  view,  but  piles  of 
dead  leaves  on  the  ground,  while  the  air  felt  cold 
and  damp.  Sometimes  the  deep-cut  path  would 
wind  along  under  the  shadow  of  the  trees ; and 
sometimes  it  would  narrow  down  between  the 
walls  of  some  dark  and  lonely  hamlet,  sunken 
down  and  crumbling  with  age,  sleeping  in  the 
depth  of  the  hollow.  And  everywhere  crucifixes 
rose  high  before  them  among  lifeless  branches, 
with  their  great  wooden  figures  of  Christ,  moul- 
dering away  like  corpses,  with  endless  grimaces 
I of  pain. 

And  then  the  path  would  go  up  again,  and  once 
more  they  looked  out  upon  the  wide  horizon, 
and  breathed  again  the  fresh  air  of  the  cliffs 
and  the  sea. 

Yann,  in  his  turn,  was  telling  her  about  Iceland, 
its  pale  summers,  its  endless  days,  and  its  oblique 
and  never-setting  suns.  Gaud  did  not  understand 
it  very  well,  and  made  him  explain.  The  sun 
goes  all  around,  — all  around,”  he  said,  waving  his 
outstretched  arm  around  the  distant  circle  of  the 
blue  waters.  It  always  stays  very  low  down,  be- 
cause, you  see,  it  has  no  force  to  rise  ; at  midnight 
it  drags  its  edge  a little  in  the  sea,  but  soon 
gets  up  again  and  takes  up  the  same  round  once 
more.  Sometimes  the  moon  appears  on  the  other 
side  of  the  sky ; and  then  they  both  of  them  shine 
away,  each  on  its  own  side,  and  you  can  hardly 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


221 


tell  them  apart,  they  look  so  much  alike  in  that 
part  of  the  world.” 

To  see  the  sun  at  midnight ! ” How  far  off 
it  must  be,  this  island  of  Iceland  ! And  the 
fiords,  what  are  they?  Gaud  had  read  this  word 
several  times,  together  with  the  names  of  the  dead 
inscribed  in  the  chapel  for  shipwrecked  sailors, 
and  it  seemed  to  her  as  if  it  must  mean  some- 
thing very  unlucky. 

Fiords,”  replied  Yann,  ^^are  great  bays,  like 
this  one  here  at  Paimpol,  only  there  are  moun- 
tains all  round  them,  so  high,  so  high,  that 
you  can  never  see  their  tops  on  account  of  the 
clouds  which  cover  them.  A gloomy  country 
enough.  Gaud,  I can  assure  you.  Rocks  and 
rocks  and  nothing  but  rocks,  and  the  inhabitants 
of  the  island  don't  even  know  what  a tree  is.  In 
the  middle  of  August,  when  we  have  done  fish- 
ing, it  is  high  time  to  be  leaving,  for  then  the 
nights  begin,  and  they  get  longer  very  fast. 
The  sun  sets  behind  the  earth  and  can't  rise 
up  again ; and  then  it 's  night  the  whole  winter 
through. 

There 's  a little  cemetery  there  too,”  he  said, 
on  the  shore  near  a fiord,  quite  like  ours,  for 
those  from  Ploubazlanec  who  may  have  died  during 
the  fishing  season,  or  who  have  been  lost  at  sea. 
It  is  consecrated  ground  just  as  much  as  here  at 
Pors-Even ; and  the  people  who  are  buried  there 
have  wooden  crosses  with  their  names  on  them 
just  like  ours.  The  two  Goazdiou,  of  Ploubazlanec, 


222 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


are  there,  and  also  Guillaume  Moan,  Sylvestre’s 
grandfather.” 

And  she  seemed  to  see  the  little  cemetery  at 
the  foot  of  the  desolate  cape,  bathed  in  the  pale 
pink  light  of  the  endless  days,  and  then  she  thought 
of  these  same  dead  sailors,  lying  under  the  ice 
and  the  black  shroud  of  those  nights  which  are  as 
long  as  winters. 

‘‘And  are  you  fishing  the  whole,  whole  time 
without  ever  resting?”  she  asked. 

“ The  whole  time  ; and  then  there  the  sail- 
ing of  the  ship  to  see  to.  And  the  sea  is  not 
always  so  lovely  off  there.  Lord  ! how  tired  we 
are  when  evening  comes  ! we  have  an  appetite 
for  supper,  I can  tell  you ; some  days  we  are 
fairly  ravenous.” 

“ Do  you  never  weary  of  it?  ” 

“ Never,”  he  said  with  an  air  of  conviction 
which  gave  her  pain.  “ On  board,  at  sea,  I never 
know  how  the  time  passes,  never.” 

And  then  she  bent  her  head  with  a deeper 
sadness,  feeling  more  than  ever  conquered  by 


y 1 

the  sea. 


PART  V. 

CHAPTER  I. 

the  close  of  this  one  spring  day  which 
they  had  spent  together,  a feeling  of 
winter  came  on  at  night- fall ; and  they 
went  home  to  dine  before  a blazing 
fire  of  crackling  branches. 

Their  last  meal  together  ! 

But  they  had  still  one  whole  night  more  to 
sleep  in  each  other’s  arms,  and  that  knowledge 
still  kept  them  from  being  sad. 

After  dinner,  outside  on  the  road  to  Pors-Even, 
they  found  that  the  pleasant  feeling  of  spring  was 
not  quite  gone  after  all,  for  the  air  was  still  and 
almost  mild,  and  a few  remaining  twilight  gleam. s 
lingered  over  the  land. 

They  went  to  pay  a visit  to  Yann’s  parents  for 
him  to  bid  them  good-by,  and  came  home  to  go 
to  bed  in  good  time,  as  they  both  intended  to  rise 
at  daybreak. 


224 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


' - '(  CHAPTER  II. 

The  quay  at  Paimpol,  the  next  morning,  was 
crowded  with  people. 

The  Iceland  boats  had  been  leaving  since  the 
evening  before,  and  with  every  tide  a fresh  lot 
put  out  to  sea. 

This  morning  fifteen  boats,  including  the  Leo- 
poldine,’*  were  to  set  sail ; and  the  wives  and 
mothers  of  the  sailors  were  all  there  to  see  them 
off. 

Gaud  was  almost  astonished  to  find  herself 
there  among  them  all,  — to  realize  that  she  too 
had  become  the  wife  of  an  Icelander,  and  that 
the  same  fateful  reason  had  brought  her  there. 
Her  destiny  had  developed  with  such  precipitous 
haste  within  the  last  few  days  that  she  had 
Scarcely  had  time  to  comprehend  it  all ; and  in 
gliding  irresistibly  down  the  steep  declivity  of  her 
fate,  she  had  found  herself  arrived  at  the  inexora- 
ble result  which  she  must  endure  for  the  present, 
like  all  the  rest  who  were  already  accustomed  to 
it.  She  had  never  before  witnessed  these  fare- 
wells; everything  was  new  and  unfamiliar.  None 
of  the  women  were  in  any  way  like  her;  and  she 
felt  lonely  and  strange.  The  fact  that  they  had 
been  accustomed  to  think  of  her  as  a lady  still 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  225 

remained  in  their  minds  in  spite  of  everything, 
and  set  her  apart  from  them. 

The  weather  remained  fine  on  this  day  of  part- 
ing, only  out  at  sea  a heavy  ground-swell,  rolling 
in  from  the  west,  foretold  bad  weather ; and  in  the 
distance  the  ocean  which  was  awaiting  them  all 
could  be  seen  breaking  on  the  rocks  outside  the 
harbor. 

Around  Gaud  there  were  others,  who  like  her 
were  very  pretty  and  very  touching,  with  their 
eyes  filled  with  tears  ; and  some,  too,  who  were 
laughing  and  indifferent,  and  either  heartless  or, 
for  the  moment,  not  in  love  with  any  one. 

Old  women  were  there,  who,  feeling  the  ap- 
proach of  death,  were  weeping  as  they  bade  their 
sons  good-by,  and  lovers  kissing  each  other  long 
and  tenderly ; some  grizzled,  weather-beaten 
sailors  could  be  heard  singing  loudly  to  keep  up 
their  courage,  while  others  went  on  board  with  a 
gloomy  look  as  if  starting  to  do  a penance.  Some 
.poor  fellows  who  had  been  tricked  into  signing 
an  engagement  while  half  drunk  in  some  wine- 
shop were  now  treated  roughly  enough  ; and  their 
own  wives  were  helping  the  gendarmes  to  push 
them  on  board. 

Others  who  they  had  been  afraid  might  give 
trouble  on  account  of  their  tremendous  strength, 
had  been  deliberately  made  drunk,  and  were  being 
carried  in  wheelbarrows  into  the  hold  of  the  ship, 
where  they  were  tumbled  down  like  so  many  dead 
men. 


15 


226 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


Gaud  was  terrified  when  she  saw  them.  With 
what  sort  of  company  was  her  Yann  going  to  live  ? 
And  then  what  kind  of  a trade  was  this  Iceland 
fishing,  to  begin  in  such  a way,  and  to  inspire 
these  men  with  such  aversion? 

But  there  were  also  some  sailors  who  smiled, 
and  who  doubtless  loved  this  life  on  the  open  sea 
and  the  fishing,  just  as  Yann  did.  These  were  the 
good  sailors,  who  carried  themselves  in  a hearty, 
courageous  way.  If  tliey  were  bachelors,  they 
went  off  carelessly  enough  with  a parting  glance 
at  the  girls ; or  if  they  were  married  men,  they 
kissed  their  wives  and  little  ones  with  a gentle 
sadness,  hoping  to  return  home  with  more  money 
in  their  pockets. 

Gaud  felt  somewhat  reassured  when  she  saw 
that  all  those  on  board  the  Leopoldine  ” were 
like  this,  and  that  this  vessel  really  had  a picked 
crew. 

The  ships  drew  off  in  twos  and  fours,  towed 
outside  by  tugs.  And  as  they  moved  along,  the 
sailors  took  off  their  caps  and  chanted  in  a loud 
voice  the  hymn  to  the  Virgin,  — Hail,  Star  of 
the  Sea!”  — and  on  the  quay,  women's  hands 
were  waved  in  last  farewells,  and  tears  fell  over 
the  muslin  strings  of  their  caps. 

When  the  Leopoldine  ” had  gone.  Gaud 
walked  along  quickly  toward  the  Gaos'  house  ; 
and  after  an  hour  and  a half’s  rapid  walking  along 
the  coast  by  the  familiar  paths  of  Ploubazlanec, 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  227 

she  found  herself  with  her  new  relatives,  off  there 
at  the  other  end  of  the  district. 

The  Leopoldine  ” was  to  drop  anchor  outside 
the  roadstead  of  Pors-Even,  and  was  not  really  to 
set  sail  until  evening ; and  so  it  was  there  that  Yann 
and  Gaud  had  arranged  their  last  meeting,  and  in 
fact,  he  did  come  back  to  her  in  the  yawl  of  his  ship, 
came  back  for  three  hours  to  bid  her  good-by. 

On  shore,  away  from  the  heavy  swell,  there  was 
no  change  in  the  beautiful  spring  weather;  and 
the  sky  was  still  of  the  same  quiet  blue. 

They  started  along  the  path,  arm  in  arm,  and 
it  made  them  think  of  their  lovely  walk  of  the 
day  before,  only  now  they  could  no  longer  look 
forward  to  the  night  together ; they  walked  aim- 
lessly along,  turning  back  toward  Paimpol,  and 
soon  they  found  themselves  near  home.  Without 
thinking,  their  steps  had  insensibly  brought  them 
thither;  and  they  went  for  just  once  more  into 
their  little  cottage,  where  Grandmother  Yvonne 
was  amazed  to  see  them,  reappearing  together. 

Yann  gave  Gaud  little  directions  in  regard  to 
different  things  he  had  left  in  the  wardrobe,  par- 
ticularly about  his  beautiful  wedding  suit,  asking 
her  to  unfold  it  once  in  a while  and  hang  it  in  the 
sun.  On  board  men-of-war  the  sailors  learn  to 
be  very  particular  about  their  things.  And  Gaud 
smiled  as  he  made  known  his  wishes ; he  could 
be  very  sure  that  everything  that  belonged  to  him 
would  be  kept  and  taken  care  of  with  all  possible 
affection.  But  these  little  matters  were  quite 


228 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 


secondary;  they  talked  for  the  sake  of  talking, 
to  divert  each  other. 

Yann  was  telling  her  how  on  board  the  Leo- 
poldine  they  had  just  been  casting  lots  for  the 
fishing-posts,  and  that  he  was  very  much  pleased 
at  having  drawn  one  of  the  best ; and  she  made 
him  explain  to  her  what  that  meant,  as  she  knew 
almost  nothing  about  his  trade. 

^^You  see,  Gaud,”  he  said,  on  the  deck  of 
our  ships  holes  are  bored  at  certain  intervals 
which  we  call  ^ reel- holes  ; ’ and  that ’s  where  we 
put  the  little  rollers  over  which  our  lines  run.  So 
before  we  start  we  throw  dice  for  these  holes,  or 
just  as  likely  cast  lots  with  brass  numbers  in  the 
cabin-boy’s  cap ; and  the  hole  that  each  one  gets, 
he  keeps  for  the  v/hole  season.  Nobody  has  any 
right  to  put  his  line  anywhere  else ; there ’s  never 
any  change.  Well,  my  post  is  at  the  stern  of  the 
boat,  which  is  the  place  where  the  most  fish  are  to 
be  caught,  as  you  can  understand ; and  then  it ’s 
near  the  shrouds,  and  you  can  easily  tack  on  a 
piece  of  canvas  or  an  oilskin  so  as  to  make  a 
little  shelter  for  your  face  against  the  snow  and 
the  hail  out  there,  and  it ’s  very  useful,  I can 
assure  you.  You  don’t  get  your  skin  so  burned 
during  the  nasty  black  squalls ; and  your  eyes  see 
clearly  ever  so  much  longer.” 

They  spoke  lov/  to  each  other,  very  low,  as  if 
afraid  of  frightening  away  the  last  moments  which 
were  left  to  them,  or  of  making  the  time  fly 
faster. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  229 

Their  conversation  had  that  peculiar  character 
which  everything  has  which  must  soon  be  ended ; 
and  the  smallest  and  most  insignificant  things 
they  said  seemed  on  that  day  to  have  a myste- 
rious and  momentous  significance. 

At  the  last  moment  Yann  took  his  wife  up  in 
his  arms,  and  they  clasped  each  other  mutely 
in  a long  embrace.  Then  he  went  aboard  ; and 
the  gray  sails  were  spread  out  to  catch  the  light 
breeze  which  was  blowing  up  from  the  west.  She 
could  recognize  him  still ; and  he  waved  his  cap 
to  her,  as  they  had  arranged.  And  long  she 
looked  upon  her  Yann  as,  like  a shadow  on  the 
sea,  he  vanished  in  the  distance.  It  was  still  he, 
that  little  human  figure  standing  up  black  against 
the  gray- blue  waters,  already  indistinct,  and  finally 
lost  in  the  distance,  where  the  eyes  which  still 
looked  could  see  no  more. 

And  as  the  Leopoldine  ” gradually  drew  away. 
Gaud,  drawn  on  as  by  a magnet,  followed  on 
foot  along  the  cliffs.  She  would  soon  have  to 
stop,  because  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  the 
promontory;  so  she  sat  down  at  the  foot  of  the 
last  great  cross  v/hich  stood  there  among  the  rocks 
and  furze.  As  it  was  at  a high  point  in  the  cliffs, 
the  sea  seemed  to  rise  in  the  distance  ; and  it 
looked  as  if  the  Leopoldine,”  as  she  retreated, 
rose,  little  by  little,  growing  ever  smaller  along 
the  slope  of  the  mighty  circle.  The  waves  rolled 
up  in  great  slow  undulations,  the  last  remnant  of 
some  mighty  storm  which  had  wreaked  its  fury 


230 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


elsewhere  beyond  the  horizon;  but  in  the  wide 
field  of  view  where  she  still  could  discern  Yann’s 
ship  all  was  calm  and  quiet. 

Gaud  still  gazed  on,  trying  to  fix  in  her  mem- 
ory the  look  of  the  ship,  the  shape  of  its  sails 
and  hull,  so  that  she  could  recognize  it  from  afar 
when  she  should  come  to  this  same  place  again 
to  wait  for  it  to  reappear. 

Great  rolling  waves  continued  to  come  in  from 
the  west  regularly  one  after  the  other,  ceaselessly 
and  relentlessly,  still  renewing  their  futile  striving, 
and  breaking  over  the  same  rocks,  spreading  out 
over  the  same  places  in  the  sandy  beach.  And 
finally  this  sullen  agitation  of  the  sea  came  to 
have  a strange  look,  contrasted  with  the  mild 
serenity  of  air  and  sky.  It  seemed  as  if  the 
depths  of  the  ocean  were  overflowing  and  trying 
to  overrun  and  invade  the  land. 

But  the  Leopoldine  grew  smaller  and  smaller 
as  she  sank  out  of  sight.  She  was  undoubtedly 
being  carried  along  by  some  current,  for  the  wind 
was  very  light  that  evening;  and  still  she  was 
rapidly  getting  farther  and  farther  away.  She 
had  become  now  nothing  but  a little  gray  spot, 
hardly  more  than  a point ; she  would  soon  reach 
the  extreme  edge  of  the  visible  world  and  cross 
over  into  that  infinite  beyond,  over  which  the 
darkness  was  already  beginning  to  gather. 

By  seven  o ’clock  in  the  evening  night  had 
come,  the  ship  had  disappeared ; and  Gaud  went 
home,  courageous  enough  on  the  whole,  in  spite 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


231 


of  the  tears  which  would  come.  But  what  a dif- 
ference there  was  now,  and  how  much  greater 
emptiness  would  he  have  left  behind,  if  he  had 
gone  away  as  he  had  done  the  two  years  be- 
fore, without  even  bidding  her  good-by  1 Now 
that  everything  was  changed,  and  the  pain  so 
mitigated,  since  he  was  really  her  own,  she 
felt  herself  so  surrounded  by  his  love,  in  spite  of 
his  departure,  that  as  she  went  home  alone  she 
was  almost  consoled  by  the  delicious  anticipation 
of  their  meeting  again  in  the  autumn. 


CHAPTER  III. 

The  summer  went  by,  warm,  quiet,  and  sad, 
the  first  yellow  leaves,  the  gathering  of  the  swal- 
lows, the  first  chrysanthemums  bringing  joy  to 
her  heart. 

By  the  packet  boats  to  Reikiavik,  and  by  the 
messenger  boats,  she  sent  him  several  letters ; 
but  she  never  could  be  sure  that  they  reached 
him. 

At  the  end  of  July  she  received  a letter  from 
him  telling  her  that  he  was  in  good  health  on  the 
loth  of  that  month,  that  the  season’s  fishing  prom- 
ised to  be  excellent,  and  that  he  already  had 
fifteen  hundred  fish  as  his  share.  From  one  end 
to  the  other  it  was  written  in  that  innocently  con- 


232  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN 

ventional  style  of  all  the  letters  Icelanders  write 
to  their  families.  Men  brought  up  like  Yann 
are  completely  ignorant  of  how  to  express  the 
thousand  little  things  which  they  think  and  feel 
and  desire.  But  as  she  was  more  educated  than 
he,  she  could  do  that  partly  for  herself,  and  could 
read  between  the  lines  the  deep  tenderness  which 
he  had  not  expressed.  Several  times  in  the 
course  of  the  letter  he  called  her  ‘‘wife/^  as 
if  he  took  pleasure  in  repeating  the  name ; and 
then  the  address  alone,  A Madame  Marguerite 
Gaos,  Maison  Moan  en  Ploubazlanec,”  was  in 
itself  a thing  to  be  read  and  re-read  with  joy. 
She  had  had  so  little  time  in  which  to  be  called 
Madame  Marguerite  Gaos. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Gaud  worked  very  hard  during  these  summer 
months.  The  women  of  Paimpol,  who  were 
doubtful  at  first  of  her  capacity  for  work,  saying 
that  her  hands  were  too  pretty  and  too  like  a 
young  lady's,  had  discovered  that  on  the  con- 
trary she  could  make  their  figures  look  better 
than  any  one  else  could,  and  she  had  almost 
become  a fashionable  dressmaker. 

What  she  earned  went  to  beautify  the  cottage 
for  his  return.  The  wardrobe  and  the  old  cup- 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


233 


board-beds  were  mended  and  varnished  and 
fitted  with  bright  new  locks.  She  had  put  new 
glass  into  the  dormer-window  which  looked  out 
on  the  sea,  and  had  hung  curtains  before  it,  and 
bought  a new  coverlet  for  the  winter,  a table,  and 
some  chairs. 

All  this  she  had  done  without  touching  the 
money  which  Yann  had  left  her  when  he  went 
away,  and  which  she  was  keeping  intact  in  a little 
Chinese  box  to  show  him  when  he  returned. 

During  the  summer  evenings  while  the  light 
lasted  she  would  sit  before  the  door  with  Grand- 
mother Yvonne,  whose  head  was  much  clearer 
during  the  warm  weather,  knitting  a beautiful 
fisherman’s  jersey  in  blue  wool  for  Yann.  There 
were  borders  on  the  cuffs  and  collar  in  wonder- 
fully complicated  open  stitches.  Grandmother 
Yvonne,  who  had  been  famous  for  knitting  in 
her  day,  had,  little  by  little,  remembered  how  she 
used  to  do  the  various  stitches  in  her  youth,  in 
order  to  teach  them  to  Gaud ; and  it  was  a 
piece  of  work  which  took  a great  deal  of  wool, 
for  Yann  needed  a very  big  jersey. 

But  soon,  particularly  toward  evening,  they 
began  to  feel  that  the  days  were  growing  shorter. 
Certain  plants  which  had  finished  blooming  in 
July  began  to  look  yellow  already,  and  small  pale 
violets  on  long  stems  started  up  again  by  the 
roadside ; finally  the  last  days  of  August  arrived, 
and  one  evening,  off  the  point  of  Pors-Even,  the 
first  Iceland  boat  hove  in  sight. 


234  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

Everybody  rushed  to  the  cliff  to  welcome  it. 
Which  one  was  it? 

It ’s  the  ^Samuel  Az^nide/  — it  ^s  always 
ahead  ! 

The  ^ I.eopoldine  ’ won’t  be  far  behind,  that ’s 
sure,”  said  Yann’s  old  father.  ‘‘  I know  how  it 
is  out  there ; when  one  starts,  the  others  can’t 
stay  behind.” 


CHAPTER  V. 

The  Icelanders  were  all  coming  back.  Two 
came  in  on  the  second  day,  four  the  day  after 
that,  and  then  twelve  within  the  next  week.  And 
happiness  returned  with  them  throughout  the  land ; 
and  it  was  holiday  for  the  wives  and  mothers, 
holiday  also  in  the  wine-shops  where  the  pretty 
Paimpol  girls  were  waiting  on  the  fishermen  while 
they  drank. 

The  Leopoldine  ” was  among  the  tardy  ones ; 
there  were  still  ten  which  had  not  arrived.  She 
could  not  delay  much  longer ; and  Gaud  was  in 
a state  of  delicious  excitement  at  the  idea  that  at 
the  end  of  the  week  which  she  had  given  herself, 
so  as  not  to  be  disappointed,  Yann  would  be 
there.  She  kept  the  house  in  wonderful  order, 
and  everything  very  clean  and  neat,  ready  to  re- 
ceive him.  When  everything  was  arranged,  there 
was  nothing  more  to  do ; and  besides,  she  had 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  235 

not  much  thought  left  for  important  things,  in  her 
impatience. 

Three  of  the  tardy  boats  came  into  port,  and 
then  five  more.  There  were  only  two  now  that 
were  wanting. 

So,”  they  laughed,  this  year  it ’s  either  the 
^ Leopoldine  ’ or  the  ^ Marie  Jeanne  * who  will 
bring  up  the  rear.” 

And  Gaud  began  to  laugh  too,  excited  and 
prettier  than  ever  in  her  expectant  joy. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

But  the  days  went  on. 

Gaud  continued  to  dress  herself  carefully,  to 
put  on  a gay  and  careless  air,  and  go  to  the  quay 
to  talk  with  the  others. 

She  kept  saying  that  it  was  perfectly  natural,  — 
the  delay.  Was  it  not  what  happened  every 
year?  And  then  such  good  sailors  ! and  two 
such  good  boats  ! 

But  in  the  evening,  when  she  had  gotten  home 
again,  she  began  to  feel  just  a little  worried  and 
anxious.  Could  it  be  possible  that  she  was  afraid 
so  soon?  Was  there  any  reason  for  it?  And 
then  she  grew  frightened  because  she  had  been 
afraid. 


236 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


CHAPTER  VIL 

The  loth  of  September,  — how  the  days  flew 
by ! 

One  morning,  when  there  was  already  a cold 
mist  over  the  ground,  — a real  autumn  morning, 
— the  rising  sun  found  her  seated  in  the  porch  of 
the  chapel  for  shipwrecked  sailors,  in  the  place 
where  the  widows  came  to  say  their  prayers, 
seated  motionless,  with  eyes  fixed  and  temples 
bound  as  with  a band  of  iron. 

For  two  days  past  the  melancholy  morning 
mists  had  begun  to  rise ; and  on  this  morning 
Gaud  awoke  with  a sharper  anxiety,  on  account 
of  the  feeling  of  winter  in  the  air.  What  was 
there  about  this  day,  this  hour,  this  minute,  dif- 
ferent from  the  preceding  ones?  Sometimes 
boats  are  a whole  fortnight  late,  sometimes  even 
a month. 

But  there  was  something  peculiar  about  this 
morning,  surely,  since  for  the  first  time  she  had 
come  to  sit  in  the  porch  of  this  chapel,  and  to 
re-read  the  names  of  these  dead  sailors. 

In  memory  of 
Gaos,  Moan, 

lost  at  sea,  near  the  northern  fiord  — 

A great  shuddering  blast  came  roaring  up  from 
the  sea,  and  at  the  same  time  something  fell 
on  the  roof  like  rain,  — dead  leaves.  A whole 


AIV  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  237 

shower  of  them  blew  into  the  porch.  The  old 
trees,  shaken  by  the  ocean  wind,  were  shedding 
their  foliage.  Winter  was  coming  — 

Lost  at  sea, 

near  the  northern  fiord, 
in  the  tempest  of  the  4 and  5 of  Aug.,  1880. 

She  read  it  mechanically,  while  through  the  grat- 
ing of  the  door  her  eyes  searched  the  ocean's 
distances.  This  morning  it  seemed  vague  and 
indistinct  under  the  gray  mist,  and  a heavy  bank 
of  fog  hung  over  the  horizon  like  a mourning  veil. 

Another  blast,  and  more  dead  leaves  came  flut- 
tering in,  — a stronger  gust  this  time,  as  if  the 
west  wind,  which  had  already  scattered  the  bodies 
of  these  men  over  the  sea,  wished  to  disturb  even 
these  inscriptions,  which  recalled  their  names  to 
those  who  were  yet  alive. 

In  spite  of  herself.  Gaud's  eyes  were  again 
and  again  drawn  to  an  empty  space  in  the  wall, 
which  seemed  to  be  waiting  to  be  filled.  She 
was  pursued  with  a terrible  persistence  by  the 
thought  of  a new  tablet  which  might  soon  have 
to  be  put  there,  bearing  another  name,  which 
even  in  spirit  she  dared  not  breathe  in  such  a 
place. 

She  shivered  as  she  sat  on  the  granite  bench, 
with  her  head  leaning  against  the  stone  wall. 

Lost  near  the  northern  fiord, 
in  the  tempest  of  the  4 and  5 of  Aug., 
aged  23  years. 

May  he  rest  in  peace  ! 


238 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


A vision  of  Iceland  and  its  little  cemetery  came 
to  her  mind,  — that  distant,  distant  Iceland,  lit 
up  at  midnight  by  the  low-lying  sun.  And  then 
suddenly,  always  in  that  same  empty  space  which 
seemed  to  be  waiting,  she  saw  again  with  horrible 
distinctness  the  new  tablet  of  which  she  had  been 
thinking,  — a fresh  tablet,  with  a skull  and  cross- 
bones,  and  in  the  middle,  as  if  written  in  letters 
of  fire,  a name,  that  adored  name,  Yann  Gaos  I 
And  then  she  stood  up,  and  uttered  a hoarse  cry 
like  one  insane. 

Outside,  the  gray  mist  of  morning  still  lingered 
over  the  land,  and  the  dead  leaves  still  blew  flut- 
tering in. 

Steps  along  the  path.  Who  could  be  coming? 
She  stood  up  very  straight,  and  with  a quick 
movement  arranged  her  cap,  and  tried  to  com- 
pose her  face.  The  steps  were  getting  nearer; 
some  one  was  coming  in.  And  she  quickly  as- 
sumed the  manner  of  one  who  had  also  come 
there  by  chance,  — not  willing  yet,  for  anything 
in  the  world,  to  seem  like  the  wife  of  a ship- 
wrecked sailor. 

But  it  was  Fante  Floury,  the  wife  of  the  Leo- 
poldine’s  ’’  second  mate,  and  she  understood  im- 
mediately what  Gaud  was  doing  there ; it  was 
needless  to  try  to  deceive  her.  First  the  two 
women  stood  silently  facing  each  other,  their 
terror  intensified  at  having  met  in  this  way,  almost 
hating  each  other  for  being  there.  And  then, 

All  those  of  Treguier  and  Saint  Brieuc  have 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN,  239 

been  back  for  a week,”  Fante  finally  said  piti- 
lessly, in  a sullen  voice,  as  if  annoyed ; she  was 
bringing  a taper  to  make  a vow. 

Oh,  yes,  a vow  ! Gaud  had  preferred  not  to 
think  about  this  last  resort  of  the  unfortunate. 
But  she  went  into  the  chapel  behind  Fante  with- 
out speaking ; and  they  knelt  down  together  like 
two  sisters.  And  there  they  repeated  the  prayers 
to  the  ‘^Virgin,  Star  of  the  Sea”  with  all  their 
souls.  And  soon  there  was  nothing  to  be  heard 
but  the  sound  of  their  sobbing,  and  their  tears 
began  to  rain  down  upon  the  ground. 

They  arose  calmer  and  more  confident.  Fante 
helped  the  trembling  Gaud  to  rise,  and  put  her 
arms  about  her  and  kissed  her. 

And  then,  having  dried  their  tears,  arranged 
their  hair,  brushed  the  saltpetre  and  the  dust  of 
the  stones  from  their  skirts  where  they  had  knelt, 
they  went  on  their  different  ways  without  another 
word. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  end  of  September  this  year  was  like  a 
second  summer  except  for  the  sadness  which  was 
in  the  air.  It  was  really  such  beautiful  weather 
that  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  dead  leaves  which 
fell  mournfully  in  showers  by  the  roadside,  it 
would  have  seemed  like  the  merry  month  of  June. 


240  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

Husbands,  lovers,  and  sweethearts  had  come  back, 
and  everywhere  was  the  joy  of  a second  springtide 
of  love. 

Finally,  one  day,  one  of  the  two  boats  which 
were  over-due  was  signalled  off  the  coast.  But 
which  ? 

Groups  of  women  quickly  gathered  on  the  cliff 
in  mute  anxiety. 

Gaud  was  there,  pale  and  trembling,  beside  her 
Yann’s  father. 

I really  believe,’^  said  the  old  fisherman,  I 
believe  it ’s  they  ! — a red  pennant  and  a balloon 
topsail ; it  looks  wonderfully  like  them.  What  do 
you  say,  Gaud,  my  girl? 

And  yet,  no,”  he  said  with  sudden  disappoint- 
ment, — no,  we  are  deceived  again ; the  bowsprit 
is  not  like  theirs,  and  they  have  a flying  jib.  So 
it  ^s  not  they  this  time,  it ’s  the  ‘ Marie  Jeanne  ; ' 
but  they  can’t  be  long  now,  my  dear.” 

And  day  followed  day,  and  every  night  came 
in  its  due  time,  with  inexorable  monotony. 

Gaud  was  almost  foolishly  particular  about  her 
dress,  for  fear  of  looking  like  the  wife  of  a lost 
sailor,  and  was  angry  when  the  others  spoke  to 
her  with  half- expressed  compassion,  turning  away 
her  eyes  so  as  not  to  meet  the  pitying  looks  which 
made  her  heart  stand  still. 

She  had  taken  lately  to  going  every  morning  to 
the  high  cliff  of  Pors-Even,  at  the  very  end  of  the 
coast,  passing  behind  the  house  of  Yann’s  father 
so  that  his  mother  and  little  sisters  should  not  see 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 


241 


her.  She  would  go  all  alone  to  this  last  extreme 
point  in  the  country  of  Ploubazlanec,  where  the 
cliff  cuts  ii  to  the  gray  waters  of  the  Channel  like 
the  horn  Df  a reindeer,  and  would  sit  there  the 
whole  day  long  at  the  foot  of  the  lonely  cross, 
which  ov  erlooks  the  mighty  expanse  of  waters. 
There  are  many  such  granite  crosses  standing  out 
on  the  bold  jutting  cliffs  of  this  sea-shore,  as  if 
asking  for  pity  from  this  restless  mysterious  thing 
which  draws  men  to  her  and  never  gives  them 
back,  ke  eping  by  preference  the  best  and  bravest 
for  hers  ?lf. 

About  this  cross  of  Pors-Even,  the  fields  were 
ever  green  with  their  carpet  of  short  green  furze ; 
and  at  this  height,  the  sea-air  was  very  pure, 
with  scarce  a trace  of  the  salt  smell  of  sea- 
weed, but  filled  with  the  delicious  fragrance  of 
September. 

All  the  irregularities  of  the  coast  could  be  seen 
from  this  point,  jutting  out  one  after  the  other  in 
the  distance.  The  shore  in  this  land  of  Brittany 
ends  off  in  rugged  points  which  stretch  far  out 
into  the  tranquil  emptiness  of  the  waters.  Just  at 
the  edge  the  mirror  of  the  sea  crumbles  on  the 
rocks,  but  beyond,  nothing  disturbs  its  polished 
surface,  and  a gentle  caressing  sound,  low  but  all- 
pervading,  comes  up  from  the  foot  of  all  the  cliffs. 
And  how  calm  were  these  wide  waters,  how  lucid 
these  mighty  dep:hs  ! The  great  blue  waste,  the 
tomb  of  the  il'  fated  Gaoses,  guarded  ever  its  im- 
penetrable mystery,  while  the  breezes,  as  feeble  as 
16 


242 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


a sigh,  scattered  abroad  the  odor  of  the  low 
heather,  which  bloomed  again  in  this  last  autumn 
sunshine. 

When  the  tide  went  out,  deep  and  ever-widen- 
ing spots  were  left  along  the  shore,  as  if  the  waters 
of  the  Channel  were  slowly  vanishing ; and  then 
with  the  same  slow  movement  the  waters  rose 
again,  and  continued  their  endless  washing  to  and 
fro  without  a thought  of  the  silent  dead  below. 

And  Gaud  remained  there,  seated  at  the  foot  of 
the  cross,  in  the  midst  of  the  deep  stillness,  until 
the  night  came  and  she  could  see  no  more. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

The  end  of  September  had  come.  She  no 
longer  ate;  she  no  longer  slept. 

And  now  she  remained  at  home,  bent  over, 
with  her  hands  between  her  knees,  her  head  lean- 
ing against  the  granite  wall.  Why  should  she 
get  up  ? Why  should  she  go  to  bed  ? She  threw 
herself  on  her  bed  without  undressing,  when  she 
was  too  exhausted  to  sit  up  longer.  Otherwise 
she  remained  there  perfectly  still,  and  almost 
stupefied,  her  teeth  chattering  as  if  with  cold,  and 
with  this  feeling  as  of  a band  of  iron  about  her 
temples.  Her  face  was  drawn,  and  her  mouth 
was^dry  and  feverish  ; and  sometimes  she  uttered 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN.  243 

a hoarse  groan  in  her  throat,  over  and  over  for 
hours  together,  while  she  beat  her  head  against 
the  granite  wall. 

And  then  she  would  call  Yann  by  his  name  with 
words  of  love,  — very  tenderly  in  a low  voice,  as 
if  he  were  quite  near  to  her ; and  it  sometimes 
happened  that  she  would  think  of  other  things, 
little  insignificant  things,  amusing  herself,  for 
instance,  in  watching  the  shadows  of  the  china 
Virgin  and  the  holy-water  basin  gradually  length- 
ening, as  the  light  declined,  along  the  high  wood- 
work of  her  bed.  And  then  her  agony  would 
return  to  her  more  horrible  than  ever,  and  she 
would  begin  that  cry  again,  and  beat  her  head 
against  the  wall. 

And  all  the  hours  of  the  day  went  by,  one 
after  the  other,  and  all  the  hours  of  the  night  and 
all  those  of  the  morning.  When  she  counted  up 
how  long  a time  had  gone  by  since  he  ought  to 
have  been  back,  she  was  seized  with  an  un- 
endurable terror ; and  she  no  longer  wished  to 
know  the  dates  or  the  names  of  the  days  as 
they  passed. 

There  are  usually  some  signs  of  shipwrecks  in 
Iceland  ; those  who  return  have  seen  the  tragedy 
from  afar,  or  have  probably  found  some  pieces 
of  the  wreck,  or  a floating  body,  — some  indica- 
tion which  tells  the  story.  But,  no  ! no  one  had 
seen  or  heard  anything  of  the  ‘‘  Leopoldine.*^  The 
crew  of  the  ‘‘  Marie  Jeanne,”  who  were  the  last 
who  had  seen  her,  on  the  2d  of  August,  said'  that 


244  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

she  was  then  going  to  fish  farther  up  toward  the 
north ; and  after  this  all  was  lost  in  impene- 
trable mystery. 

To  wait,  always  to  wait,  without  ever  knowing 
anything  ! When  would  the  moment  come  when 
she  would  really  wait  no  more?  She  did  not 
know  even  that,  and  now  she  almost  wished  that 
she  soon  might  — 

Oh,  if  he  were  dead,  why,  at  least  was  not 
some  one  pitiful  enough  to  tell  her  so  ? Oh,  to 
see  him  — wherever  he  was  at  this  moment  — 
to  see  him,  or  what  remained  of  him  ! If  only 
the  Virgin  to  whom  she  had  prayed  so  long 
would  grant  her  by  a sort  of  second  sight  a vision 
of  him,  of  her  Yann  ! — of  him  alive,  sailing  his 
boat  toward  home,  or  at  least  his  body  tossed 
by  the  sea ! 

Sometimes  the  vision  of  a sail  rising  on  the 
horizon  would  suddenly  come  to  her,  — the 
Leopoldiiie  ''  approaching,  hastening  to  get  in  ! 
And  then  she  would  make  an  unconscious  move- 
ment to  get  up,  to  run  out,  to  look  over  the 
ocean  to  see  if  it  were  true.  But  she  would  fall 
back  in  her  seat  again.  Alas  ! where  was  she 
at  this  moment,  — the  ^‘Leopoldine, — w^ere 
was  she  likely  to  be? 

Off  there,  doubtless,  in  that  terribly  distant 
Iceland,  deserted  and  wrecked  and  lost.  And 
it  always  ended  with  another  vision,  the  same 
which  ever  relentlessly  pursued  her, — a disman- 
tled and  empty  wreck,  cradled  on  a silent  sea  of 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


245 


rosy  gray,  cradled  gently,  silently,  tenderly,  as  if 
in  mockery,  in  the  still  solitude  of  those  lifeless 
waters. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Two  o^clock  in  the  morning.  It  was  at  night 
particularly  that  Gaud  listened  to  every  approach- 
ing step.  At  the  least  murmur,  at  the  slightest 
unaccustomed  sound,  her  temples  throbbed ; and 
her  nerves  had  so  long  been  overstrained  that 
the  least  noise  was  agony  to  her. 

Two  o^clock  in  the  morning.  On  this  night, 
as  on  all  the  others,  she  was  lying  with  her  hands 
clasped  and  eyes  open  in  the  darkness,  listening 
to  the  sound  of  the  wind  sighing  its  ceaseless 
complaint  along  the  shore.  Suddenly  a man’s 
steps  ! — steps  hastening  along  the  road.  At  such 
an  hour  who  could  be  passing  ? She  raised  her- 
self in  bed,  stirred  to  the  depths  of  her  soul, 
while  her  heart  ceased  its  beating. 

Some  one  stopped  before  the  door,  and  was 
mounting  the  little  stone  steps. 

He  — oh,  joy  of  heaven  1 — he  ! Some  one 
had  knocked  ; it  could  be  no  one  else.  She  was 
out  of  bed  in  her  bare  feet ; she,  so  feeble  for 
so  many  days,  jumped  out  as  nimbly  as  a cat, 
with  arms  outstretched  to  embrace  her  beloved. 
Doubtless  the  Leopoldine  ” had  arrived  in  the 


246  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN. 

night,  and  had  anchored  off  the  bay  of  Pors-Even, 
and  he  was  rushing  to  come  to  her.  She  arranged 
all  this  in  her  head  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning, 
and  now  she  was  breaking  her  nails  on  the  fas- 
tening of  the  door,  in  her  mad  haste  to  slide  back 
the  rusty  bolt. 

Ah  ! — and  then  she  slowly  recoiled,  sinking 
down  with  her  head  fallen  on  her  breast.  Her 
beautiful,  foolish  dream  was  over.  It  was  only 
Fantic,  their  neighbor.  By  the  time  she  well 
understood  that  it  was  not  he,  that  no  sign  of 
her  Yann  had  passed  by  in  the  night,  she  had 
fallen  again  by  degrees  into  the  same  gulf,  — to 
the  same  depths  of  awful  despair.  Poor  Fantic 
apologized.  His  wife,  as  she  knew,  was  at  her 
very  worst  at  present,  and  their  child  was  chok- 
ing in  its  cradle  with  the  croup ; and  he  had 
come  to  ask  for  help  while  he  ran  to  Paimpol 
for  a doctor. 

What  difference  did  all  that  make  to  her? 
She  had  become  almost  savage  in  her  grief,  and 
had  no  longer  any  thought  for  the  troubles  of 
others.  Sunk  on  a bench  before  him,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  as  if  she  were  dead,  she  neither  spoke, 
nor  listened,  nor  looked  at  him.  What  did  it 
matter  to  her  what  the  man  was  saying? 

And  then  he  understood  why  she  had  opened 
the  door  so  quickly  for  him,  was  sorry  for  the 
pain  he  had  caused  her,  and  began  to  stammer 
out  an  apology.  True,  he  ought  not  to  have  dis- 
turbed her,  — not  her. 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN  247 

Not  me  ? ” replied  Gaud,  quickly ; ‘‘  and 
why  not  me,  Fantic?” 

Life  suddenly  returned  to  her  with  the  fear  of 
being  thought  by  others  to  despair.  She  would 
not  endure  that  yet.  And  then,  in  her  turn,  she\ 
was  sorry  for  him ; so  she  dressed  herself  and 
followed  him,  finding  strength  enough  to  go  and 
take  care  of  his  little  child. 

When  she  came  back,  to  throw  herself  on  her 
bed  at  four  o’clock,  she  fell  asleep  for  a moment, 
because  she  was  tired  out. 

But  this  one  instant  of  great  joy  had  left  an 
impression  on  her  mind  which  still  remained 
in  spite  of  everything.  She  awoke  soon  with  a 
shock,  half  rising  out  of  her  bed,  at  the  remem- 
brance of  something.  There  had  been  some 
news  about  her  Yann ; and  in  the  confusion  of 
ideas  which  came  into  her  head,  she  tried  quickly 
to  recall  what  it  was. 

Ah,  nothing,  alas  ! — no,  nothing  but  Fantic ; 
and  a second  time  she  fell  into  the  depths  of 
her  old  despair.  No ; in  reality  nothing  had 
happened  to  change  her  dull  and  hopeless  wait- 
ing. But  to  have  thought  that  he  was  so  near,  — 
it  was  as  if  some  message  from  his  spirit  had 
come  to  float  in  the  air  about  her.  It  seemed 
like  what  they  called  in  Brittany  a ^‘warning;  ” 
and  she  listened  more  carefully  still  to  all  the 
steps  outside,  believing  that  somebody  would 
come  who  would  speak  of  him. 


248 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


And  in  fact,  when  it  was  daylight,  Yann's  father 
did  come  to  see  her.  He  took  off  his  cap, 
brushed  back  his  beautiful  white  hair,  which  was 
curly  like  his  son^s,  and  sat  down  by  Gaud^s  bed. 
His  heart  was  torn  with  anguish  too,  for  his  Yann, 
his  handsome  Yann,  was  his  eldest,  his  favorite, 
and  his  pride.  But  he  did  not  despair, — no,  really 
he  did  not  yet  despair ; and  he  began  to  reassure 
Gaud  in  a very  tender  way.  In  the  first  place, 
those  who  had  last  come  back  from  Iceland  all 
told  of  very  heavy  fogs  which  might  easily  have 
delayed  the  ship,  and  then,  besides,  he  had  had 
an  idea  they  might  very  possibly  have  stopped 
at  the  Feroe  Islands,  which  lie  far  northward  on 
the  route,  and  whence  letters  are  very  long  in 
coming.  The  same  thing  had  happened  to  him 
forty  years  ago,  and  his  poor  dead  mother  had 
already  had  Mass  read  for  his  soul.  Such  a good 
ship  she  was,  — the  Leopoldine,”  — almost  new, 
and  with  such  a good  crew  on  board  ! 

Old  Mother  Moan  prowled  about  them,  shak- 
ing her  head.  Her  grandchild’s  trouble  had 
almost  given  her  back  her  strength  and  her  men- 
tal faculties.  And  she  took  care  of  the  house, 
looking  from  time  to  time,  as  she  went  about,  at 
the  yellowing  little  photograph  of  her  Sylvestre, 
hanging  on  the  granite  wall,  with  its  anchors  and 
its  mourning  wreath  of  black  pearls  ; but  since  this 
seafaring  life  had  deprived  her  of  her  last  grand- 
son, she  no  longer  had  any  faith  in  the  return  of 
any  sailor.  She  only  prayed  to  the  Virgin  now 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAiN.  249 

from  fear,  with  her  poor  old  lips  only,  guarding 
an  unforgetting  bitterness  ever  in  her  heart. 

But  Gaud  listened  eagerly  to  all  these  consol- 
ing words,  her  great  eyes  with  their  black  circles 
regarding  with  deep  tenderness  this  old  man  who 
looked  so  like  her  love.  Only  to  have  him  there 
next  to  her  seemed  like  a protection  against 
death,  and  she  felt  more  hopeful,  and  as  if  Yann 
were  nearer  to  her ; and  as  her  tears  fell  silently 
and  with  greater  calmness,  she  began  to  say  over 
again  to  herself  her  ardent  prayers  to  the  Virgin, 
Star  of  the  Sea.’’ 

They  had  stopped  off  there  in  those  islands, 
to  repair  damages  perhaps ; it  was  indeed  quite 
possible. 

Gaud  got  up,  braided  her  hair,  and  made  a kind 
of  toilet,  as  if  he  really  might  be  coming  back. 
Surely,  all  hope  was  not  lost,  since  he,  his  father, 
did  not  despair ; and  for  several  days  she  began 
to  look  for  Yann  again. 

It  was  full  autumn,  late  autumn;  and  there 
were  sombre  twilights,  when  it  soon  grew  dark  in 
the  old  cottage,  and  dark  also  all  about  in  the  old 
Breton  country.  The  days  themselves  seemed 
scarcely  more  than  twilights,  and  the  clouds  which 
floated  slowly  by  often  made  it  quite  dark  at 
noon-day. 

The  wind  roared  ceaselessly,  like  the  distant 
sound  of  great  church  organs  playing  ominous 
or  despairing  tunes,  or  at  other  times  rushed  up 
against  the  door,  raging  like  a wild  beast. 


250  AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 

Gaud  had  become  pale,  so  pale,  looking  all 
the  time  more  weak  and  worn,  as  if  age  had  al- 
ready brushed  her  with  its  plumeless  wing.  Very 
often  she  would  look  over  Yann^s  things,  — his 
beautiful  wedding  clothes,  — folding  them  and  un- 
folding them  like  a mad-woman,  and  particularly 
one  of  his  blue  woollen  jerseys  which  still  kept 
the  shape  of  his  body.  When  she  threw  it  gently 
on  the  table,  it  fell  naturally  into  the  contour  of 
his  shoulders  and  chest.  And  finally  she  put  it 
alone  in  a drawer  in  the  wardrobe,  not  wishing  to 
stir  it  again,  for  fear  of  its  losing  that  impression 
the  sooner,  if  disturbed. 

Every  evening  cold  fogs  drove  up  across  the 
shore ; and  she  looked  out  of  her  window  over 
the  melancholy  country,  watching  the  little  puffs 
of  white  smoke  beginning  to  rise  here  and  there 
from  the  cottages  of  the  neighbors.  There  every- 
where the  men  had  returned  like  wandering  birds 
brought  back  by  the  cold ; and  before  many  a 
hearth-fire  pleasant  evenings  would  be  spent,  for 
the  revival  of  love  had  come  again  with  winter 
throughout  all  this  country  of  the  Icelanders. 

Clutching  at  the  thought  of  those  islands  where 
he  might  be  stopping,  she  began,  as  it  were,  to 
hope  again,  and  once  more  to  expect  him. 


ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


251 


_ CHAPTER  XL 

( Yann  nev^came  back. 

One  August  night  out  there  off  the  coast  of  / 
sombre  Iceland,  in  the  midst  of  a great  fury  of 
sound  had  been  celebrated  his  marriage  with  the 
sea,  — with  the  sea  which  had  formerly  been  his 
nurse.  It  was  she  who  had  cradled  him,  who  | 
had  made  him  a strong  and  broad-chested  youth, 
and  had  then  taken  him  in  his  magnificent  man- 
hood for  herself  alone.  A profound  mystery  had 
enveloped  these  monstrous  nuptials.  Dark  veils 
were  shaken  constantly  above  them,  curtains  mov- 
ing and  twisted,  stretched  there  to  hide  the  feast ; 
and  the  bride  had  given  voice,  making  all  the 
time  her  most  horrible  loud  noise  to  drown  the  | 
cries. 

And  he,  remembering  Gaud,  his  wife  of  flesh, 
had  defended  himself,  struggling  like  a giant, 
against  this  spouse,  which  was  the  tomb,  until 
the  moment  when  he  gave  himself  up,  his  arms 
open  to  receive  her,  with  a great  deep  cry  like 
the  death-roar  of  a bull,  his  mouth  already  filled 
with  water,  his  arms  open,  outstretched  and  stiff 
forever. 


^52 


AN  ICELAND  FISHERMAN, 


And  they  were  all  there  at  the  wedding,  all 
those  whom  Yann  had  before  invited,  — all  ex- 
cept Sylvestre,  who  had  gone  off  to  sleep  in  en- 
chanted gardens  far  away,  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world. 


THE  Eia>. 


r 


v.l 


